Doom Days
by TheMightiestPen2
Summary: Fifteen years later, the hunting trips across small-town America have turned into an epic battle against the forces of Heaven and Hell, and now, against God Himself. Long-held assumptions are challenged, friendships are tested, and the tale of the Winchester brothers is concluded. We're in the endgame, now. AU season 15. Canon relationships.
1. Quarter Past Midnight

**Note**: Hey guys! This is the small prologue for this AU season 15 fic, which I'll be posting about every 4-5 days or so. Keep an eye out for updates, and I hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 1: Quarter Past Midnight

The void is peaceful.

It's difficult—impossible—to describe to anyone without the ability to sense the divine. The nothingness that exists above the mortal plane, where things cease to be tactile and no longer are comprised of physical matter, contains only pure energy. Only Grace. The purity of the essences there allow for a more intimate knowledge, more familiar forms of interaction between them.

This is where God finds himself now.

He is certainly in need of purity, of truth, at the moment. He thrives in the complex, in the minutiae, but this…this is not what he wanted, nor what he expected. He usually enjoys it when something manages to surprise him—it's so difficult, nowadays—but he cannot deny that he will mourn what once was, in this world. It has been unlike anything he's done before.

_Indeed_.

He feels something brush against the vast consciousness of his divinity. He is disapproving, and makes it known.

_Oh, come now. _There, some amusement. How irritating. _Once upon a time, our presence was welcome to you_.

The void rings with His bemusement and frustration.

_No matter_. A rippling laughter. _This is always what happens, in the end_. _You should know this better than anyone_.

There is no end. He makes this perfectly clear.

_Of course there is. Everything has it's time, and everything ends. That is what it is_.

The void is no longer peaceful. He makes to disappear elsewhere, less pure, perhaps, but with fewer distractions. He needs to ponder in isolation.

Before this movement, there is a final tug of caution, and of experienced resignation. _You cannot run forever. Eventually, things will proceed as they are always meant to, even if postponed indefinitely. _

Watch me. He vanishes.

**Next time: **We see the fallout from the graveyard, and Jack finds himself in a very confusing situation.


	2. Bad Decisions

Chapter 2: Bad Decisions

The graveyard erupts into screaming.

Sam feels the ground rumble and clutches the iron bar more tightly. Dean tenses against his shoulder, and Sam sees him lift his own weapon a little higher.

The monsters amble towards them, faster than they should, and Sam feels like he should say something to Dean, to Cas, (to Jack), but before he can bring himself to form words they are almost overrun. Sam feels Dean lean into him, just for a second, and Sam takes a deep breath and shifts his stance, feeling a pull in his stomach and an ache in his head, and then—

And then he's tripping, dropping to his hands and knees, staring down at the floor of the Bunker, shoulder throbbing, head spinning with _what what what how_. He hears Dean stumble away, footsteps unsteady, before a door slams and the faint sounds of retching emerge. Sam's eyes tick over to his right, where the war room is, and sees Jack lying near the table, eyes burnt out and aimed towards him. He swallows, thinks Dean may have had the right idea.

"Are you all right?"

Cas's voice is croaky and devastated. Sam looks away from Jack and heaves himself off his hands and into a kneel, turning to his friend. Cas looks as shattered as he sounds, but is also eyeing his shoulder with sincerity. It takes Sam's breath away for a moment, that Cas can even think about him when he's just lost so much.

Sam swallows again, but this time to remove the tightness in his throat. "Yeah," He croaks out, collapsing into a cross legged stance, pressing his palm against the shoulder wound, the ache in his head increasing. "Are you?"

Cas blinks at him, then glances to the side, where Jack is, and his face shatters further. "No," He says softly, and falls silent again.

Dean slams back into the room with his usual chaotic energy, eyes wild, hands shaking. "What the _fuck _just happened? How are we here?"

Sam just shakes his head.

"I don't know," Cas breathes out, still looking at Jack. "I would normally say God, Chuck, but…"

"But he just declared war on us. Yeah," Dean runs a hand over his face, once, twice, then takes a deep breath. "Are you sure it wasn't you?"

Cas nods. "I am sure."

The silence that follows is suffocating. This is beyond a near miss, which is just another day for them at this point. This is gaining the enmity of literally the most powerful being in the universe. This is becoming the villain (or is it the hero? But that makes God the villain and Sam _can't _do that, he _can't_…)

Dean's eyeing him up. "You good, Sam? How's your shoulder?"

Sam clutches it harder. "Shot," He says, thinking it might be a joke. "Nothing I can't handle."

"I should take a look at it," Dean starts to make his way over, taking the long way, avoiding Jack, not even looking in his direction. "Can't mess around with a bullet wound. Especially not from God's magic gun."

Sam chokes at the reminder. "What are we gonna do?" He asks, making Dean stop dead in his tracks. "What's…" He can't continue, the concept too large and terrifying to even begin to breach.

Dean sucks in a quick breath, but it's Cas who speaks. "We give him peace," He says, looking at Jack. "And then we will address everything else."

* * *

Dean collapses onto the chair in Sam's room. With hands that only shake a little, he deposits their beat-up, professional grade first aid kit onto the table. _Okay. Showtime_.

Sam's sitting across from him, hand pressed into his shoulder, head bowed. He's removed his button up, and the blood staining his white t-shirt is vibrant under his fingers

"Okay, dude, lemme see that."

Sam nods, then moves to roll his sleeve up. "Don't wanna lose another shirt."

"I think it's a lost cause, man," But Dean lets him do it anyway, and Sam manages to peel his shirt off the bullet wound with only miniscule wincing.

The bullet wound doesn't look great—it's a bullet wound—but it's not terrible either. The bullet never actually went through his shoulder, so Dean doesn't have to dig around to find it. That's good, it's usually really messy to have to do that, and the last time he had to, huh, must've been…

Dean swallows away the memory. "Looks just like a through-and-through. Easy fix."

"That's what you said last time," Sam says, eyeing the needle and thread that Dean extracts from the kit. "I couldn't lift my arm for two months."

"Last time?" Dean deliberately sets down the suture kit and fishes out cotton and gauze. "Really gotta bring that up, huh?"

Sam rolls his eyes. "It's the same shoulder, dude. Hope you do a better job this time."

"The same…?" Dean starts to clean out the wound. "Oh. You mean the rabbit foot thing? With Bela?"

"Of course. What else would I mean?"

Dean leans back, grabs the suture kit. "I lost a whole lotta money that time," He grouses, ignoring the question. "Fuckin' rabbit's foot."

Sam chuckles. "Sure. That was the foot," His eyes tighten when Dean starts to stich, but he remains still. "Hey, where's Cas?"

Dean pauses mid-stitch. "Okay, non-sequitur. He went to, well, find some wood. For. You know."

"Yeah," Sam nods, face tight. He'd left the war room before Cas announced his intentions to burn Jack, and Dean had been quick to follow. "Hey. Can we. Uh. Can we talk about what went down with Jack in the graveyard?"

"Why?" Dean ties off the wound, then leans back for the bandages. "I think it's pretty clear what happened. "

"I know," Sam suddenly looks very interested in examining his stiches. "But, you know, we're going to be saying goodbye to him in a second. And, it's really complicated with Jack, and, you know, if you want to talk about it before we have to do this…"

Dean rips open a package with a little more force than necessary. "I'm good," He says, voice clipped. He suddenly wants to speed up his first aid. "I wanted to kill him. I didn't. He died anyway. And nothing's been fixed," He presses cotton gently against the stiches. "Mom's still gone. Cas still knew, and he didn't care."

"Dean…"

"No," Dean loops the bandages around his shoulder, secures them, then stands up. "That hasn't changed. And we have bigger priorities now. Leave it alone."

He collects the kit and leaves, hoping Sam hasn't seen his hands start to shake again.

* * *

Castiel stares into the flames of the pyre.

It is his second in recent times, and he thinks that should make him numb to the experience. He isn't, and the heat of the fire is barely enough to scratch what is under the surface. His grief is drowning out even the voices of his brethren, and he keeps seeing God grasp onto Jack's face and smite him with no hesitation. It's a pain he has never experienced before.

A shaky breath directs his attention to his side. Sam is standing slightly behind him, chest hitching in sporadic bursts. The bandages on his shoulder, applied hastily by his brother, crinkle with each breath. Castiel thinks distantly that he understands this, more than he ever has. He envies the ability of humans to express themselves simply by the movement of their breath.

Castiel glances to his other side. Dean is silent, stoic, expressionless, much as he was during his mother's funeral. His jaw is tense, his eyes are hard, and Castiel understands this too. He now knows why Sam held him back. He knows more than he ever wanted to.

"We will move forward," Castiel says, flicking his eyes back to the flames. "We will end this, one way or another. We will make sure Jack remains at peace, in Heaven, if possible. And then, I will be finished with this. With all of it."

He turns. Sam looks at him, blinks, and nods jerkily. Dean stares at him, still stoic, silent, and expressionless, and Castiel now also understands what it means to say "You're dead to me."

It's not the first time they have had different priorities, different goals, but it is the first time Castiel has been convinced that this is a conflict they will not come back from. It has been ever since he saw Dean point a gun at a kneeling Jack. The fact that he never actually took the shot doesn't seem to matter at the moment.

Sam…he doesn't know about Sam. His sin, helping trick Jack into that box, seems trivial by comparison. Seeing him now, with his shaky breaths and trembling limbs, forcibly reminds him of the figure sitting in the shadow of the Impala after Jack died the first time. He can't really bring himself to accuse, not with that.

So, he just nods at Sam, glances at Dean, and turns away. They have work to do.

* * *

"Who are you?" Jack croaks out. The darkness surrounding him is overwhelming and he chooses to focus on the woman in front of him, just to see something that isn't nothingness. He thinks, just for a second, that he sees something in the darkness, but it disappears quickly.

The woman smiles. "You don't know me? I would've thought the Winchesters and Castiel described me, at the very least."

"I'm…" Jack closes his eyes, but it's too dark so he quickly prises them open again. "I…I don't remember. Why am I here?"

The woman cocks her head, stares at him. "What _do_ you remember?"

Jack scrunches his face up, tries to think. "I…I think…" Images pass behind his eyes quickly and he can't keep up. "Michael. I…helped Dean. With Michael."

"…Is that it?"

"No!" Jack tries to focus on the memories. "It's just…It's hazy. There's a snake. And…" He stops. "Did I hurt someone?" He breathes out, seeing a girl fly back. "What did I do?"

"Oh, kid." The woman looks more sympathetic now. "Do you remember? About the magic? And your soul?"

Jack nods ferociously. "Yes! Did I…did I lose it? Did it make me do something?"

He sees now that the woman is holding something, a long and curved weapon. She shifts it to the other hand, and Jack is taken aback by how uncertain the gesture is. "Kid…I promise you, I will tell you what happened. But you have to promise me back: don't try to remember by yourself. Not yet. I don't think your mind can take it."

"Why should I trust you?" Jack feels himself tear up, and he can't stop it. "How do I know you aren't lying to me?"

"Because I'm Death," The woman says, matter-of-factly, "And you're dead. And you're in the Empty. Congratulations."

Jack steps back but he's not sure if it actually takes him anywhere. "Death?"

"Call me Billie," She sets her weapon down firmly, somehow managing to lean on it in a way Jack cannot perceive. "And don't worry. When you died, your soul reassembled itself here. You're all you again."

"Why am I here? I went to Heaven last time."

Billie shrugs. "When you tangle with the Winchesters, things get complicated. I think there was some…divine intervention. Made sure you didn't make it up there."

Winchesters?

"Sam…Dean…" Jack breathes out, voice shaking. "Cas! I have to get back to them. I have to. Are they alright? Are they hurt? Did I…"

"Slow down," Billie holds up a hand, smiling slightly. "They're all fine. As for getting back…" She shakes her head, chuckles slightly. "Normally, it would be a hard no from me. Everyone has their time and all that. Now, though," Her voice seems to deepen. "Now, I've been tossed in here too. The big man is taking over all of it. He wants me out of the way, and that disrupts the natural order. If I'm going to do my job, I gotta get back."

Jack frowns. "Who's the big man?"

"I'll tell you later," Billie locks eyes with him. "In the meantime, he's made a big mistake, locking us in here together. We can both get out of here, with your help."

Jack nods. "What do you need me to do?"

"It's simple, really," Billie starts to move towards him slowly, purposefully. "You just so happen to have an…intimate connection to Hell. Through your dear old Dad, who, of course, gave up his claim to Heaven long ago. The Cage made Lucifer's Grace very reactive to Hell."

"He's not my dad." Jack frowns.

Billie rolls her eyes. "Sure. But, with that connection, you also have a…special relationship with Hell. You can get there any time you like."

"And?"

"I'm getting there," Billie stops in front of him, then sticks her hand out. "I can use you to make a connection to Hell. We can escape back into the world through that. Deal?"

Jack hesitates, just for a second, then takes her hand. "Deal. And you'll tell me what I did, too."

Billie nods, shaking his hand. When she stops, she doesn't let go, but flips his hand to reveal his palm and smiles. "Ready to get outta here, kid?"

**Next time**: Tensions rise amongst Team Free Will, and Jack comes face to face with his past.


	3. The Waves

Chapter 3: The Waves

"Where do we start?" Sam asks quietly. He's sitting at the table in the war room (clean now), staring at the laptop like it can get him the answers he needs. It doesn't look like he slept at all that night. Which is fine, because neither did Dean.

Dean leans on the table, head in his hands. _Prioritize_.

Do they start by figuring out how they got from the graveyard to the Bunker? Or find where Jack ended up? Or look into the lore on how to fight God? Or start to figure out what happened to the zombies in the graveyard?

It's all too much. How the fuck are the supposed to do this?

"Dean?"

Sam's voice is concerned, but also pleading, and for a second Dean wants to snap _how about you pick where to start yourself, Sam? _but it goes away and he feels ashamed and a little sick.

He looks back up at his brother. "I guess…the most pressing thing right now is the God thing, right? The fact that…that's he's planning something for us. We need to be as prepared as possible for him."

"The God thing?" Sam's smile is faint, but it's there.

"Shut up," And for a second, everything is as it should be. Just for a second.

The sound of footsteps from the library shatters the semblance of peace they manage to find. Cas strides into the room, decidedly not looking at him. "That may be the most pressing matter at the moment. However, I believe all the tasks that we need to do are pressing and prioritizing one over the other may not be the best move."

Dean's nostrils flare. Two can play at that game. "How are we supposed to do anything right if we try to solve everything at the same time? It doesn't make sense."

"It does if we do separate tasks," Cas says, and Dean's temper ratchets up another notch.

"Cas," Sam says, interjections soft and uncertain. "Shouldn't we…work together on these? I don't think it'll be safe if we split off without backup. Especially with…with who…"

Cas looks at Sam and his expressions softens from coldness to his comforting neutrality. "That does present a bigger problem," He says, nodding. "But I believe that speed is of the essence in this situation. We're dealing with someone with more power than anyone else we've ever encountered. The only way we can win is if we outmanoeuvre Him, and quickly."

Sam nods jerkily. "Do you have anything in mind?"

Cas sits down across from Sam, scooting the chair further in. "If we play to our own separate strengths, we might manage to get through…"

"And what are those strengths, Cas?" Dean leaps up from the chair, hands fisted, resting on the table. "Going at it alone? Keeping important information to ourselves and hoping it works out? Newsflash: that tends to end pretty fucking badly."

"Dean," Sam says, but he's quickly interrupted.

"I don't know, Dean. We don't all default to murder when people make mistakes out of their control, but I'm sure we'll find some use for that strength," Cas stands up too, but his cold, indifferent tone returns.

"Mistakes?" Dean's voice is rising now, he can tell, but he can't stop it. "Okay. Sure. Pretty fucking simple mistake, right? Gotta ignore who gets hurts in the process, if it was a fucking _mistake_! Oh, and I didn't even take the shot, you sanctimonious asshole! Even if I had every right to, by the way!"

Cas is suddenly a lot closer. Dean realizes, vaguely, that he'd made his way over to Cas when he was speaking. "Of course. Dean Winchester, our judge, jury, and executioner, handing down his death sentences from above. I supposed it shouldn't be surprising. You were willing to kill your own brother, after…"

Dean explodes. He shoves Cas, points at him. He's so angry he starts shaking. "Don't you fucking _dare_…"

"Stop!" Sam stumbles out of his chair, plants himself between them. "We can't. We have to fix…we can't."

There's silence for a second. Dean tries to look around his brother to Cas, to potentially see what he's planning…

"Sam, start to look into the lore. Try to see if there's anything we can use against God," Cas's tone is matter-of-fact. He moves out from behind Sam and starts to walk to the exit. "Dean, look around the Bunker, see if there's anything of use. I'll be back shortly."

"Where're you…" Dean starts, but Cas interrupts him.

"I will try to access Heaven, see if I have any helpful contacts. And I will also see if I can find out what happened to Jack."

Dean makes to reply, but Sam looks at him pleadingly. Dean just breathes deeply as Cas strides across the Bunker, takes the stairs, and slams the door with more force than necessary.

* * *

Sam waits until he's alone to break down.

When Dean stomps off into the bowels of the Bunker, Sam shoves his laptop to the side, puts his still-aching head in his hands, and lets out a long, shuddering breath. A few more follow, and Sam can feel it all building up in his chest.

How…how is he even meant to start? The research is what he's good for, he knows that, but this…it's an impossible task. All the texts that he has access to, the ones written by humans of years past trying to figure out the world they live in, all follow the same creed: if God exists, then He is good, and He is the ultimate power that holds the universe together. It is impossible that these scholars would dare question a being that, to them, would either smite them down for trying or do nothing, as He would not have existed in the first place.

Sam had always been the first type. How could he even try to go about questioning the most basic assumption to exist in all of these texts? How is he supposed to break it to them, to everyone, that there is no saving the fabric of their existence?

He's suddenly aware of his body: he's hunched over the desk now, almost at a ninety-degree angle, and he's starting to get light-headed. His hands are wet at the fingertips.

Sam levers himself up slowly, staring down at the table, focusing on the horn of Africa in the backlight of the map. He wipes his hands on his jeans.

Time ticks by slowly, and Sam reaches to where he had flung his laptop and grabs his phone. He unlocks it shakily. If the lore is dead on arrival, he's going to try a different route. A less scholarly one.

Sam dials, holds the phone to his ear. It dials once, twice, before he hears a throaty "Hello?"

"Hey, Rowena," He croaks out, sitting back. "How are you?"

"Not bad, Samuel," She says carefully, and it's unexpected. "But I think that you're calling me to change that."

Sam laughs without humor. "Sorry," He says, steeling himself. "We've…we've got a bad one this time. I think you're going to have to sit down."

* * *

Before Jack can react, Billie swings her weapon around and slashes into his palm.

"Ow!" Jack says, more surprised than anything else, and Billie grins at him.

"Sorry, kid," She says, and runs a thumb over his cut, collecting blood. "I figured it would hurt less if you didn't know it was coming."

"It didn't," Jack grumbles, tugging his palm back and covering his cut. "What'd you do that for?"

Billie rubs her hands together, then cups them together and breathes into them. "Just a little spell to encourage a portal to open. No big dea…"

A loud rumbling interrupts her. "Hm," Billie says, kneeling down and running her hands on the ground. "We're about to get some company. Can you stall it until I'm done?"

"Stall…?"

The darkness around them coalesces and shifts, rippling around until it solidifies into…into…

"Who are you?" Jack demands, stepping back, away from the copy of his own face. "What do you want?"

His own face smiles at him, and it makes him feel nauseous. "Hello, Jack," He says, his voice expressionless. "You've caused some problems for me recently."

"I don't even know who you are," Jack says, backing up further.

His doppelganger moves in, tapping his chin. "I know _you_," It says. "And this is the second time you've woken something down here. It's starting to get on my nerves."

"I didn't do it on purpose," Jack says. He doesn't know what's going on here, but he does know that he has to keep whatever this is busy. He glances at Billie, who is muttering quietly under her breath. "_Who are you_?"

The thing wearing his face smirks at him. "I'm the Empty," It says. "You owe me an angel."

Jack frowns. "I never took one."

"You're funny," The Empty's smiles widens, but it doesn't look amused. "You managed to snatch Castiel right out of here. You know that I had to resort to…other means to ensure his return. And I must say," The Empty holds his arms up, examining his form. "Having this particular form—soulless, no less—is _intoxicating_. So much power, so much pain, so much death along the way."

Jack feels his heartbeat increase. "What?"

The Empty chuckles, "He didn't tell you? Oh, I have a st…" It pauses suddenly, then whips around to where Billie is standing. "What are you doing?"

"No!" Jack says, frantic. "What did you mean? What did I…?"

The Empty ignores him, instead striding towards Billie. "Death," It snarls, and a power pulses through the void of darkness. "You have no power here. Go back to your domain, you are not welcome."

"Funny," Billie says, straightening up, surreptitiously wiping her hands on the ground—or at least, where the ground would be, if they weren't in a void of nothingness. "I was actually trying to get out. I don't want to be here any more than you want me in."

Jack's form starts to shift and distort until there's nothing left but smoke and a pair of glowing eyes. "I will allow you to leave," It hisses, then directs its gaze back at Jack. "But this one is my property. He's dead, and natural law dictates that he belongs to me. You know this."

Jack and Billie lock eyes. He can feel a chill start to run up his body. She's going to leave him here alone, in the dark, not knowing what he'd done and separating him from his family to just…exist here forever. The chill reaches his chest and Jack prays that he'll be able to go to sleep this time around.

"Interesting proposition," Billie says, looking away from Jack. His fear ratchets up another notch. "I do appreciate someone who knows how to leave things as they should be."

"We're in agreement then," The Empty says, and Jack feels the smoke start to coil towards him, to wrap around his arms, his legs, his chest.

"But not this time."

Billie suddenly slams her weapon to the ground, where it _thunks _loudly, and the ait shimmers once more and Jack feels himself fall.

**Next time: **Rowena suggests a solution, the Winchesters get an unpleasant surprise, and Jack visits a new place.


	4. Divide

Chapter 4: Divide

"Well," Rowena says, after the brief silence that takes hold after Sam's voice peters out. "You boys have certainly landed in hot water now."

Sam chuckles. "Yeah. What else is new?"

"Are you sure you don't have anything in those books of yours?" Rowena shuffles in the background, and Sam hers the tell-tale sounds of flipping pages. "You have access to quite the library."

"If there was anything that could tell us how to counteract God's power, I'd have found it when we were fighting Amara," Sam says, tapping his fingers on the table's surface. "We're gonna have to think outside the box with this one."

Rowena sighs. "I don't know if I have anything here that can help. My power's nothing to sniff at, of course, but to go up against someone who created everything that could stop Him? That may be beyond my reach, even."

Sam detects something more behind her tone. "I don't want you to put yourself in the line of fire if you don't want to," He says, feeling the familiar guilt roil up in his stomach. "I know we're stacking our favors up pretty high. But, if you find anything that you think could help…"

There's a pause. Sam can hear Rowena breathe softly against the speaker. "If I were you," She begins, deliberately. "I would think about relying on…less Biblical sources. Or, I suppose, to go back to the basics. He's the one that set the rules for this universe; maybe you can play within his own rules to beat him."

Sam's heart starts to _race_. "So, for example," He says, just as deliberately. "The rules of magic?"

"Perhaps," Rowena's voice is even, thoughtful. "Or, maybe, digging more deeply into established rules of…a Biblical nature. To see what you have available to you, what was given to you, and potentially using it to its full advantage."

"So…access to Grace?"

"For example. Or," Rowena says slowly, "Maybe using…advantages of the body. Especially for bodies that are…capable of holding a significant amount of Grace. That were built for surviving confrontation with a being of power, and can thus be counted as powerful on both Earth and the Heavenly planes."

"Okay," Sam says, thinking hard. This is Rowena helping how she can: not giving answers that put her in danger, but giving him enough for him to get there on his own. "So, say…looking into the potential of people who have the capability to be vessels?"

Rowena chuckles softly. "That's a novel idea, Samuel. And don't you have access to someone, or several someones, like that?"

"Sure do. Pretty convenient," Sam smiles, even though she can't see him. "We've got both Michael and Lucifer's true vessels here."

There's a silence. "You were Lucifer's true vessel?"

Sam raises his eyebrows. "You didn't know? Didn't he tell you?"

"No, he never told me much of anything. But I suppose it makes sense," Rowena sounds thoughtful. "The blood connection would do it. I'm assuming your bloodline is significant."

"Yeah, but that's old news," Sam sighs, pushes away the memories. "Rowena, if you find anything else there…"

"I'll let you know, Samuel," Rowena says, voice light. "But I wouldn't hold my breath. Not for something quick, at least. Thank you for letting me know about the…situation. I'll keep you posted."

"Thanks Rowena," Sam says, and hears the call end in reply.

He hangs up with a sigh. It was a long shot, but he somehow feels better having let Rowena in on their problem. She'd proved to be a pretty good ally over the years. And now, she'd given him something to think about. All three of them had connections between Earth and the divine: Cas because he was an angel-turned-human-turned angel, and him and Dean because they'd been built to host powerful archangels. There might be potential there.

He reaches over to snag his laptop, deep in thought. Maybe he can look through their sources on vessels and any advantages that could hold? Or maybe he can…

_Ding_

A notification pops up on his laptop. It's from the software he's developed, the one that looks for key words in news articles and suggests potential hunts that they could check out. Sam makes to click it, then hesitates. _Prioritize_.

_Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding._

They all start rolling in, one by one, at a frantic pace that he's never seen before. Startled, Sam clicks on one of the links automatically, and is redirected to a small town Ohio news site, with a headline that blares "TEENAGERS KILLED IN MYSTERIOUS CIRCUMSTANCES" accompanied by three photos of smiling teen girls.

Sam swallows his panic and clicks on another notification. This one…this one is in Illinois, with witnesses saying that they saw a clown near the scene that seemed to vanish without a trace. And another, in California, with a man going missing after taking a road trip and seemingly vanishing into thin air.

_No_.

And then he finds it.

Kansas. A massacre in a small town near the graveyard. Nearly all dead, overnight, without explanation. Neighbouring towns, including Lebanon, on lockdown, and law enforcement is advising caution.

_No no no no no_.

His thoughts are interrupted by Dean stomping back into the room. "Well, I got jack shit down there," Dean says, striding over. "Nothing that'll help us against any kind of almighty deity. Although, I did find this powder that…"

He pauses. "Sam? What is it?"

Sam turns to look at him. He must look like shit, because Dean's eyes widen almost comically and he makes it to the table double-time. "What's happened? Sammy?"

Woodenly, Sam flips the laptop around and gives Dean a good look at the scores of notifications, and at the article that remains front and center on the screen. Dean's face goes from scared-pale to shocked-gray in record time and Sam thinks vaguely that he looks like he's gonna pass out.

"Shit," Dean whispers, and Sam nods grimly.

"_Shit!_" And Dean slams down the laptop screen, making Sam flinch like a startled rabbit, before pushing himself away and starting to pace, back-and-forth and back-and-forth and back-and-forth. "_Fuck!_"

Sam closes his eyes.

He can hear Dean's breathing coming on faster. "That _asshole_! I had we had to prioritize, didn't I? _Didn't I_? And now look at this. And he's off, galivanting around in Heaven, while we're stuck with the consequences like we are _all the fucking time_! What are we supposed to do with this mess now, huh?"

Sam shakes his head. "It's not Cas's fault, Dean," He says softly.

"The _hell _it is!" Dean slams his hands on the table, making Sam flinch again. "This is on _him_! And us! And whatever the hell took us away from the graveyard before we could stop the zombie horde! Because you know damn well that without us to attack, they were gonna go out there looking for victims. And we just let it happen!"

Sam nods. "You're right," He says, voice tight. "I'll…I'll call Jody. I'll update her on the situation and put her on it. She'll round up some help too."

Dean raises an eyebrow. "What? Shouldn't we go out there and clean up our own mess?"

"Because it's not the only one," Sam opens the laptop, eyeing it for damage, and clicks through the other tabs. "Look. Look at this."

Dean looks, swears again. "Is this…?"

"Yeah," Sam says, grim-faced. "I think He released a lot more than those zombies that day, Dean. I don't know for sure, but—"

"_What_?" Dean says, suddenly weary.

"He said something about…The End. And Cas called him a writer, and he clearly saw us as entertainment, right? So I think, he might have, um," Sam steels himself. "He might have released things from our past. Things we killed. You know, for the irony."

Dean groans. "What? Seriously?"

"It's just a theory," Sam stares at the laptop screen. "But it makes sense."

"That evil, heartless son of a..."

"We should call him."

Dean stops his swearing, staring at Sam like he'd just declared that _Hey, maybe Lucifer wasn't so bad after all_. "Excuse me?" He asks, but it sounds like a formality.

"God. We should… we should pray to him. And ask him what he wants." Sam chews his lip and drops his gaze.

There's a beat. And then another. And then…

"What?" Dean explodes, leaning over the table to get in Sam's face. "Are you crazy? You want us to give up? Now? After the fucking dog-and-pony show that guy made of our lives? After you tell me he might have potentially undone everything good we ever did?"

"Listen," Sam leans in, eyes wide. "This is _God_ we're talking about. Not Lucifer, not Amara, not Michael, not Azazel. _God_. He can literally see everything, do everything. He can end us and rewrite the rules of the universe with a snap of his fingers. There is literally nobody more powerful than him."

Dean is silent for a second, then leans back. "We've done this every time, Sam," He says. "Every enemy has been more powerful than the one before. We are _going _to figure this out. We always do."

"You're right," Sam says, sitting back. "We always do. But, Dean. He's capable of bringing back anything he wants, of raising an army of all out enemies and friends and family and crushing us to nothing. And he'll hurt other people do to it. Like with Jack. Like with our family. Shouldn't we…shouldn't we try to make sure he doesn't hurt anyone else to win?"

Dean hunches his shoulders, belligerent. "All I'm hearing still is you wanting to give up. Did you even _try _to look anything up?"

Sam thinks of Rowena's suggestion, shakes it aside. "What ideas I do have are…preliminary. And I'm _not _saying we give up totally, Dean. I'm just saying we contact Him and see what the hell he wants from us. Maybe we can, I don't know, reach a compromise? And it's not like he wouldn't know where to find us if he wants to anyway. He probably knows exactly what we're doing. He could kill us whenever he wanted to."

Dean shakes his head, but he remains quiet. His hands tap on the table, once, twice. "Maybe you're right," He says, unexpectedly. "Maybe. Give me…give me some time. Let me think."

Sam nods, blinking fast, and looks down. He doesn't want to see his brother's disappointment more than he has to.

* * *

It's cold. It's very cold.

That's the first thing Jack notices. He stands up shakily, holding his arms to his chest. It's not working: he can feel the cold invade his body, seep into his bones.

"Pretty unpleasant, huh?"

And there's Billie, rubbing her hands together—almost mockingly—and grinning at him, carefree. "I have to admit, this wasn't where I expected to end up."

Jack holds himself tighter. "Why'd you do it?"

"Straight to the point, hm? I admire that in a person," Billie laughs, short and sharp. "Honestly, kid? You don't belong there. If anything, you'll ensure the Empty stays awakened, which is bad news for everybody. Also, well, you clearly have a soul. I have claim to all souls, and you should belong in my domain when your time ultimately comes."

Jack nods, relief swirling in his chest. "Thank you," He says tentatively.

"No problem. I gotta admit, it sure helps to have an ally down here," And Billie is all business again, turning to examine her surroundings. "Where'd you end up taking us, short stack?"

Jack looks around too. It certainly wasn't what he expected, from what he's read and heard and assumed about Hell. It's a long, wide expanse of nothing: dark, cloudy skies above him, and below, a carpeting of flat white plains as far as the eye can see. It's a horizon that goes on forever, with nothing in any direction. Jack kneels down to touch the ground, expecting snow. He gets the same shock of cold, but the thin granules that skim his fingers feel more like sand.

Also, has he mentioned it's cold? It's freezing. This was _not _what he was led to believe, not in the least. He shivers involuntarily.

Billie notices. "Lucifer burns cold," She comments nonchalantly, striding out into the apparently-endless horizon. "Are we in his domain? Because this sure ain't the cage. Looks like you've dropped us straight in the bowels, kid."

"I didn't mean to," Jack says, straightening back up, feeling tiny grains of sand clutch into the small grooves of his fingerprints. "How do we get out of here?"

Billie clicks her tongue. "That is an excellent question. I could navigate us outta here real quick if I knew where we were. But I don't. So, we're gonna have to keep on walkin' til I find something familiar."

Jack stares out into the horizon. "That's gonna take forever!"

"We have forever," Billie picks a direction, walking with confidence. "We're in Hell! There's no such thing as late in Hell. It's one of its _very _few redeeming qualities."

Jack begins to stagger after her, mind whirring. "What if we get tired?"

Billie lets out a loud, genuine laugh. Jack stumbles at the shock of it. "Tired? You're so funny. I knew I kept you around for a reason. Now, hop to it! We aren't gonna get anywhere if we just stand around doing nothing."

And they walk. And walk. And walk.

Jack never gets warmer. As time goes by—and he can't tell if it's going quickly or slowly, maybe both at once—he also gets more and more miserable. And bored. And curious.

"Billie?" Jack asks tentatively, putting on a spurt of energy. It's not easy to catch up to her. She never wavers, always keeping the same quick pace, getting in front of him easily.

"No, we're not there yet," She chortles, but Jack doesn't understand the joke. "Just be patient."

Jack levels with her, matching her quick, marching pace. "No," He refutes, shaking his head. "I want you to keep your part of the deal now."

Billie chortles again. "Really? I got you out of the Empty, and you want to ask more favors from me? You really are borrowing right from the Winchester playbook, huh?"

"You promised!" Jack says, incensed. "I have to know. I have to know what I did before I go back. I have to know that everyone's okay."

Billie's pace slows, then stops altogether. "Oh, kid," She says, sympathy coloring her voice. Jack's fear rises at the sound. "I don't think you wanna know."

"I do!" Jack says, stopping with her. "I do."

"Yeah, I know," Billie stands there, hands on her hips, looking at him. "Firstly, you have to know that whatever happened, it's not on you. Your soul is what makes you who you are, and your body without it is, well, not actually you. You do _not _have to take on anything that your soulless self did."

"You're scaring me," Jack says, swallowing hard. "What did I do? I mean," He says quickly, at Billie's glare. "What did my soulless self do?"

Billie sighs. "Sit down, kid."

Jack immediately collapses onto the snow-sand, crossing his legs and staring up at Billie expectantly. She joins him, copying his cross-legged stance and sitting directly across from him.

"First thing you should know," She says slowly. "Is that Mary Winchester is dead."

"No," Jack breathes out, fists clenched on his knees. "_No!_"

Billie reaches out, gently grabbing one of his hands. "She's at peace," She says. "She's in Heaven with her husband. She's fine now."

Jack rips his hand out of hers, covers his face. "She's not fine," He says tightly. "She's dead."

Billie doesn't reply, just sits there and waits.

And then, it occurs to him. "Did I kill her?" He says, breathless. "Did I?"

He looks up. Billie's face is pinched tight, and she doesn't answer. She doesn't have to.

Jack breathes in and out. "Did I kill anybody else?"

If Billie is surprised at the question, she doesn't show it. "You killed Nick," She says quietly. "But he was trying to bring Lucifer back, so it wasn't…uncalled for. And, your grandmother. Your mother's mother."

Jack nods, eye squeezed shut. "I'm sorry," He whispers, to anyone who could hear. "I didn't mean to do it. I'm sorry."

"Remember what you promised me, Jack," Billie tells him. "It wasn't you. It was just your body."

"How is it not me?" Jack demands, opening his eyes again. "It was my powers, my decisions, my family…" He chokes. "Family…oh my god. Sam, Dean, and Cas. Do they know? Do they know what I did?"

Billie's voice is firm. "Again, not you. But yes, they're aware."

Dean's face flashes through his mind: cold, emotionless. A gun points directly at his face.

Jack covers his face again, this time to protect himself the images that have started to invade his mind. "Did they kill me?" Jack asks, voice muffled by his hands. "Is that why I'm dead?"

"Jack, wait," Billie's voice sounds like it's coming from far away. "Jack, look at me, try not to remember, Jack…"

Billie's voice is drowned out by sights and sounds that suddenly explode in around him. Jack's eyes squeeze together tighter, but all he sees is a bright light and _Mary's shocked face A large crater His grandmother's tears A burned body A wooden box Mary's corpse Cas's hug Sam's pain Dean's gun God's gun Pain Darkness _and he can't take it and then he hears someone screaming.

Billie says "Shit!" and he opens his eyes to find out why but the light's still there, and the ice desert is trembling and now he can see that the screaming is coming from him.

He sees that Billie's not sitting in front of him anymore. Instead, she's been tossed several feet back and is struggling to stand up, shielding her eyes from the intense winds that Jack doesn't remember seeing before. The ice-sand is swirling around her, getting in her hair, her clothes, gathering in small tufts on top of her weapon.

There's a burning sensation inside him now, and despite the cold that he'd been feeling he doesn't like this warmth any more, and he's scared now and doesn't know what's happening…

Suddenly, he feels a sharp pain on the side of his head, causing his vision to blacken and his body to fall back into the sand (when had he stood up?), and Jack squints at the stars in his vision and waits for his head to stop pounding.

"Hello?"

Jack looks up. There's a man standing there. He's relatively short—although, Jack knows he's spent a lot of time around men who are taller than normal—and he has short brown hair and flinty clue eyes. He doesn't really look like a demon, but he seems…unbothered by all the Hell around him.

The man locks eyes with him, face calm "I got you to stop," He says, and it would be cheerful if it wasn't so blank. "You're new."

**Next time: **Cas visits Heaven, Jack meets someone new (maybe), and the Winchesters come to a decision.


	5. A Million Pieces

Chapter 5: A Million Pieces

Castiel finds himself at the playground.

It's invisible to mortal eyes, but the whole place hums with the aura of the divine. It's extremely easy to find portals to Heaven if you're attuned to the sound of the angels. All in all, they're a pretty loud bunch. Too loud, in recent years, Castiel thinks grimly.

He makes his way over to the sandbox. This time, there are not guards, and he is able to access the portal with relative ease. This should be good news, but it makes Castiel feel uneasy. Extremely uneasy.

He steps through the portal and into the welcoming embrace of Heaven. Another advantage of access to divine senses is the true experience of Heaven. The aura of it is calm and welcoming, and it is designed to be attractive to any being within, even the angels that reside there. Of course, access to the divine is a much less interesting skill for Castiel nowadays. The nature of the divinity itself has been tainted for him beyond repair. He cannot find any comfort in Heaven, not anymore.

Shaking away his thoughts, Castiel quickly slips through the hall of mortal souls, stealthily making his way to central command. As he has done far too often recently, he reorganizes his mental experience of Heaven to match the physical Earthly plane. He finds that he loves it so much, he cannot bear to part with it. Not that he feels just as much bound to the material realm as he is to the divine one.

The halls of Heaven, usually bustling and warm and _busy_, are now empty and cold. Castiel had been nervous about potentially having his fight his way in, but is able to make it through to the central area without encountering a single guard. This, more than anything, makes him uneasy.

When he reaches the central command office, he finds that it, too, is mostly empty. The desks are abandoned, the room dark, and the only sign of life within is Naomi, seated at the far end of the room at the head of a long conference table. She looks up as he enters, serenely neutral. "Castiel," She greets noncommittedly. "I was expecting you here."

"Were you?" Castiel steps into the room, cautious. "Have you sent everyone away so we could have a private meeting?"

Naomi's mouth spasms at the sides. From her, that is an outpouring of emotion. "No," she says caustically. "There are barely enough of us to keep Heaven running. I could only spare myself for this meeting."

Castiel closes his eyes briefly, an expression of pain. "I suppose you know why I came, as well?"

"Yes," Naomi is unmoving, a fortress. "Looking for that boy of yours, I assume. Again."

Castiel walks closer to the conference table. He checks, but there is so sign of another heavenly presence. It seems she is telling the truth. "I am," He says. "Are you going to tell me where he is?"

"Where do you think he is?" She gives him a cold look. "We do not accept murderers. We did not fight for him this time."

Castiel feels the ever-present whispering at the back of his mine, the claim that has been laid upon his Grace. "The Empty?" He whispers, almost reverently.

"Where else?" Naomi nods, sharp, businesslike. "As you are aware, we have no power in the Empty. We cannot, and would not, help you retrieve him from there. Now, is that all, Castiel?"

Castiel nods, take a breath, then moves on to priority number 2. "I suppose, then, that you're also aware of…what has currently been released into the world?"

Naomi gestures towards the chair across from her in the conference table. "We are aware of the situation. I think you know that we will not be involving ourselves in this mess. Not this time."

Castiel takes the seat. "I think you know," He says, delicately. "That this is not what we have been tasked to do. Somewhere along the way, we have lost ourselves. And if the divinity we follow has revealed Himself to be—"

"I'll stop you right there," Naomi's stare somehow turns even more piercing. "I've been aware that our father has left us to our own devices a long time now. His new…change of heart regarding our mission does not change the parameters of what we have been tasked to do, nor does it alter how we will be running things here. We know our duty, and we will continue to do it."

Castiel is surprised. He tries his best not to let it show. "Then you know that we might have to take action to stop Him? Are you willing to join us in this fight?"

"You misunderstand me, Castiel," Her tone is still firm, but contains notes of sympathy. "We will be staying out of the fight entirely. Just because we have decided not to aid the Lord in his current crusade does not mean we are fighting for your side, either. Our job at the moment is what it has always been: taking care of the humans under our protection, and keeping Heaven running smoothly. We do not have the manpower to both help you and keep order in the universe."

"Refusing to fight is not being neutral, in this case," Castiel warns. "We are at a crossroads here. The rules that we have been given to govern our universe are either from a corrupt source, or their source has become corrupt. If we have any hope of winning our freedom, we have to come together. All of us. Or we're likely to be doomed."

Naomi nods. "I know you think that. I will reiterate: we will _not _be pulled in by your crusade. Your loss would not affect us, only you and your friends. I truly am, sorry, Castiel. You have done much for the universe, but I cannot help you with this. You will have to figure it out yourselves. We've also heard tell that the cycle is—" And Naomi stops herself abruptly, but the damage is already done.

"Cycle?" Castiel asks, countenance snapping to attention. "What do you mean by…"

"No matter," Naomi snarls, sympathy disappearing from her expression. "You have come with a request, and I have denied your request. You may go now."

She waves a hand, and Castiel feels his Grace withdraw, then hurtle towards the earth. He comes to, seconds later, in the playground where the gate to Heaven had been, mind whirling in more ways than one.

* * *

"What?" Jack asks, shrinking back. His head is still pounding, but his vision is starting to clear. "What are you talking about? Who are you?"

The man just continues to stare at him. "You don't belong here, do you?" He says, eyeing Jack with what looks like wonder. "I thought I was the only one. I've been the only one for…for ever. For all time."

"You're not from here?" Jack risks a look back at Billie. She has stood back up, her hair windswept and full of little white granules. The look on her face terrifies him: she's staring at this new stranger with horror and recognition. It's a dangerous combination.

"I wasn't, originally," The stranger replies to his question. "I think I used to live somewhere else. It all got lost in here, though. I think I even used to have a name."

'Okay," And now Billie steps in, separating Jack and the stranger. "What a lovely chat this has been! Would you be so kind as to tell us where in the hell—ha—we are, please?"

"I don't know. Nothing kills me. Nothing touches me. They all leave me alone. I've been wandering here for years." The stranger looks at her now, cocks his head. "How did you get here?"

"Just a sec," Billie ignores him, turns to Jack instead. "You doing alright, kid? That was…quite the breakdown you just had. Did you…remember everything"

And Jack tumbles back to reality: his heartbeat starts to increase, his breath starts coming in in quick bursts. "Yes," He gasps out. "Yes. I'm a monster. I killed. They hate me now. They hate me."

"Whoa," Billie says, holding her hands up. "Wait, Jack…"

Billie is suddenly removed from his line of sight. As his vision starts to tunnel again, he sees the stranger's face show up again instead, cupping the sides of his face.

"Calm down," The stranger says, and he seems more grounded now, less lost in his own head. "Take deep breaths. You're okay."

Jack inhales deeply, slowly, then lets it out again. He does this three more times, and feels the rising heat in his chest begin to dissipate. "Wow," He breathes out, feeling his heartbeat start to calm. "It's working! How'd…how'd you know how to do that?"

The stranger lets go of his face and straightens up. "I don't know," He says, thoughtfully. "I think I used to do this. Or…maybe I was learning how? Before I was here." The stranger looks down at him, and a smile begins to emerge. "You're bringing me back, I think."

"Thank you for helping my friend, Jack, here," And Billie is back, clutching Jack's forearm, hauling him up onto his feet. "But back to my question. Can you tell us which direction you walked from, and what else you've experienced down here? I'm leading us out, and you could join us if you'd like."

The stranger turns to his right, staring out into the neverending horizon. "I came from there," He says, back to his empty calm. "I walked and walked and walked. There was a doorway into the halls of screaming. I didn't like it there, so I found a way out. And it was here."

"You…you made a door through Hell?" Billie raises an eyebrow. "That's pretty damn impressive. Do you think you could take us back through there? I'd be able to get you out once we get to Hell proper. I have pull with the demons, should be encounter any."

The stranger nods. "I don't like them," He says, plaintive. "I'll get you there if you can keep them away."

"It's a deal," Billie nods at him, then about-faces and begins to march to the direction he pointed in. Jack scurries after her, and hears the stranger begin to follow at a steady pace. "I don't suppose you could tell us how long it'll take us to get there?"

"Long?" The stranger catches up to Jack easily, matching his stride.

"Okay, then," Billie continues on. "You should know, this might take us months. Maybe years. I'm pretty sure my powers have been hamstringed—probably by God, that rat bastard—so we're going to need all hands on deck to get out of here. But if we want to leave, all of us, then we'll have to work together. Are we all agreed?"

Jack nods, jerky, terrified. The stranger smiles, dips his head.

"Let's do this, then." Billie glances back, eyeing Jack. "You good, kid?" She says softly. "You ready to fight your way back?"

Jack nods, determined. "Yes," He says. "I want to apologize to them. They can do what they want after that. But, I need to apologize at least. They deserve that much."

Billie nods, turning back around. Jack wipes his eyes discreetly.

"Oh," The stranger says, unprompted, eyes sparking with increased emotion. "You _are_ bringing me back. I remembered something else."

Billie's shoulders tense ahead of them. "Oh yeah?" She calls back, deliberately casual. "What's that?"

"Me," The stranger says. "My name. My name is Adam."

* * *

Dean stomps back into the room. He sees Sam jerk up and look at him, the expression on his face switching between hope and fear. It makes him a little sick to his stomach.

"Okay, listen. Here's the deal. We're going to go clean up the messes we know exist, and then we talk about this plan of yours. But first, and I mean first, we make sure that everything we put out there is back in the ground or in Hell or whatever void it belongs to. Agreed?"

Sam nods, jack-rabbit fast. "Okay," He says, voice cracking. He coughs, then continues. "Fine. That's…that's fair enough, I guess. Can I…can I call Jody, get her and the others to cover some of these? I have a pretty good idea of what they are, and we can finish em all up quicker and get more people saved and everything."

Dean nods shortly. "Fine," He says, shuffling his feet, suddenly awkward. "It's a compromise, then."

"Okay," Sam says again, and whips out his phone and dials before Dean can blink "Hey, Jody? I have some hunts for you to take over. I'll send over the details, it should be pretty straightforward, nothing to figure out…Yeah, we're pretty sure we know what's going on, so it should go pretty quick…Great! We owe you one…Yeah, another one. I'll send them over now. Talk to you later, Jody."

Sam puts down the phone and instantly grabs his laptop, fingers flying over the keyboard as he presumably sends Jody the details to the hunts that he wants her to take. A few minutes go by as Sam does his keyboard-ninja thing, presumably also sending detailed notes about how to tackle each hunt along with three backup plans. His brother is nothing if not thorough.

Finally, Sam looks up at him, face lit by the glow of the monitor, enhancing his exhausted features. "Okay," He says, "I've sent her everything we've got. I was thinking we can tackle the zombie army problem because we're closest to it, lemme just do a little research to see what can kill them and then we can—"

"Sam," Dean sits in front of him, grabs the laptop, and slams it shut. Sam yanks his hands back just before they get pancaked by the laptop lid. Ooops. "Slow down, man. You're tired. I'm tired. We got the ball rolling on this. It doesn't look like the zombies are active right now, so let's get some sleep and roll out in the morning, okay?"

"What?" Sam looks at him, eyes wide, pupils blown. "Dean, weren't you _just _saying that we were responsible for this mess and that we need to clean it up? Weren't you just ready to go rip Cas's head off because he isn't here to help us with this? How are you suddenly ready to just go to sleep and deal with it in the morning?"

Dean scowls. "I still think that, dude," He says, crossing his arms defiantly. "But we're not gonna be any good if we head out tired. There's no immediate danger. Let's just…take a second, breathe. You look like you're gonna pass out if you even stand up."

"Is that all?" Sam asks, eyes sparking. "Or is it because we're talking to God afterwards, and you wanna delay that as much as you can? To try to talk me out of it? Well, you can't Dean. I still think this is the right thing to do."

Dean glares, then whirls around and stalks off to his own room.

They don't speak again that night.

* * *

They go on the hunt. It's weird and awkward, with a tension between them that hasn't existed in ages. Last time they were this out of sync, Dean was doing his farewell tour before locking himself into an underwater coffin. This time, though, it's almost like a farewell tour for the both of them.

Sam is characteristically apologetic. When Dean emerges from his room, Sam is already awake and tapping away at his laptop. He looks up and apologizes the instant Dean crosses the threshold into the library. He immediately follows it up with details on the last known location of the zombie hoards and theories on how to take them down, so Dean doesn't have time to actually respond to the apology. But Sam had been emotional and shaky throughout this whole ordeal, and Dean didn't want to point out the signs of his faith-based emotional breakdown, so he just lets it go.

And after Sam babbles on with the well of information he'd clearly been gathering while Dean lay in his bed and stared at the ceiling for hours, he drops a fucking _doozy_ like it's nothing. Because Sam's just like that, he gets a kick out of giving Dean heart attacks on a regular basis.

It goes like this:

"Oh, by the way, check out what's happened to the bullet wound."

That sure gets Dean's attention. "What? God's weapon bullet wound?"

"It's not like I have another one right now, Dean," And Sam pulls down his shirt at the collar, finger brushing over his bandaged shoulder. "You gotta see the…"

Dean gets there first, ignoring Sam's "hey!" and pushing the bandage aside, feelings the pangs of worry and then—

There's nothing there.

Dean stares at the completely healed patch of shoulder until Sam shakes him off and covers it with his shirt. "You didn't need to do that," Sam says, irritated. "I was gonna show you…"

"What the _fuck_, Sam?" Dean shakes his head. "_How _did that happen? That was a _bullet hole _three days ago! How the fuck did it just disappear?"

"I don't know, Dean, but does it really matter in the big pic—"

"Does it…does it _matter_?" Dean sputters, outraged. "Does it _matter _that the magic wound you got from God's magic gun mysteriously healed overnight? Um, yeah, Sam! It does matter!"

"Okay, calm down," Sam holds his hands out, clearly regretting even bringing it up. "I'm okay, it's all fine. My theory is that when God heals the wound it heals on my end too because, you know, the gun was all about reciprocity and everything. So I figured the wounds mirror each other too. But, hey, we know that now at least, right?"

Dean's hands come up to cover his face. "Next time, start with that, please? So you don't contribute to my gray hair any more than you already do?"

That little interaction does nothing for the tension, and Sam is quiet and sullen again by the time they in the Impala. That's just fine with Dean, because he's not feeling at his best at the moment either.

To the surprise of both of them, the hunt goes pretty well. All they have to do is follow the path of destruction left by the zombies. They find them shambling along a road between two small towns, and are only just able to stop them from destroying another place. They get very, very lucky, and they don't even have to go undercover to find them.

It turns out the zombies are really just demons who have hijacked the bodies of deceased corpses. They figure that out after the holy water they toss at one makes it writhe around in pain, after everything from steel knives to bullets makes absolutely zero difference. After that, it's a very long day of tossing around liberal amounts of water and reciting exorcisms until their throats are dry. The cleanup is particularly atrocious: they end up having to lug bodies around into the forest until nightfall, and it takes three huge pyres to get rid of all the evidence. Dean doesn't know how they manage it without being caught, but that's small-town isolation for you. There's positives to being in the ass-end of nowhere after all. Silver linings.

When they're in the Impala on the way back, covered in zombie guts and damp with holy water and heavy with all the things they've kept unsaid. It's a song and dance they've performed many, many times in their lives, and at this point the waiting-for-the-end feeling is just part of their lives. Sam has a funny look on his face, like he doesn't know if they're going to have this conversation again. His expression says, loud and clear, _What would be the point_? Dean can see where he's coming from, in a way. It's not likely they'd even make it to Heaven.

So, to Sam's obvious surprise, Dean is the one to break the silence.

"Hey, Sam?" Dean keeps his eyes on the road, counting the seconds it take to get from one street lamp to another. It's a small road, there are barely any. "You doin' okay?"

"Yeah," Dean sees Sam look up from his periphery, clearly temporarily thrown from whatever he'd been looking at on his phone. "Sorry, I was just checking in on Jody. They took care of the woman in white and John Wayne Gacy, and she'd told me they're pretty close to handling Bloody Mary, too."

Dean whistles low. "Damn. That's sure a blast from the past, huh?"

"Yeah," Sam says, and is that a smile in his voice? "Feels like a different life."

Dean nods. "It sure does," He says, softly. "It was a good one though, right?"

"Well, I don't know about _good_," Sam chuckles darkly. "But, I mean, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't change any of it. No regrets, right?"

Dean smiles, nods. "No regrets," He echoes, risking a glance at the passenger seat. Sam is staring back, and he looks less lost, more secure.

"You know," Dean says, looking out into the road, switching subjects. "I don't exactly have a history of backing your play."

"That's not true," Sam objects. "Hasn't been for while now."

"No, it's fine," Dean says, tapping at the wheel nervously. "You can say it. It's true. But you know, with how many times we've been at this point, and how many times we've had to have talks like this, the only time it's actually ever worked is when we trust each other."

Sam nods jerkily, but stays silent.

Dean takes it as permission to continue. "And if we have a hope of making it out of this, pulling off one more miracle, we've gotta keep doing that. And so, I'm gonna support you on this one. If you think calling God, getting him to compromise, is the right thing to do, then we'll do it. Just, be honest with me. Do you think this the right thing to do?"

There's a beat of silence. Dean's hands tighten on the wheel.

"Yeah," Sam says, throaty, short. "Yeah, I think it is. It's the right thing to do."

Dean nods. "Okay, then," He says. "We're doing this."

"Thank you," Sam whispers into the darkness of the Impala. Dean nods again, leans over to the radio, and lets Metallica do the talking for him.

**Next time**: A talk is had, a deal is struck, and a decision is made


	6. Doom Days

Chapter 6: Doom Days

"You ready?"

Sam feels Dean's gaze on his back. It's heavy with expectation and resignation. He nods.

They're standing in _the _graveyard, the one where it all went down. Sam had said that he thought God would appreciate the setting as a way to acknowledge the place as their battlefield. Dean had just shrugged, but let him do his thing.

"Sammy?" He hears Dean step up behind him, feels a hand at his shoulder. "You got this. I got your back."

Sam nods again, glancing back this time to make sure Dean sees his shaky smile of acknowledgement, of support, and than faces forward again with determination.

He looks up, closes his eyes, and puts everything he has into the prayer. He knows God is listening this time, but this is the worst he's ever felt when sending up a prayer. "God," He says, both out loud and in his head. "I know you're hearing this. We want to talk to you, and I think you're going to want to hear what we've got to say."

Sam opens his eyes, looks around. Nothing.

"Maybe you're getting a busy signal," Dean suggests. Sam shoots him an exasperated look.

"Funny," He hears behind him, and the two of them spin around quickly. God stands there, dressed in the same formalwear that he'd opted for during their last meeting. He looks deliberately neutral.

"Sam. Dean," God steps forward, arms outstretched, confident. "I gotta say, getting your call was…unexpected. I'm a little busy right now, so I'd appreciate it if you kept whatever it is you wanted to talk about brief."

"What do you want?" Dean says, speaking quickly, like he can't get the words out fast enough. "What do you want from us?"

"We asked you here to compromise," Sam clarifies, stepping forward so he stands shoulder to shoulder with his brother. "We want to know how we can work together to find out what exactly you want us to do."

God's eyebrows go up, disappearing into his hairline. "Wow," He says, after a moment. "You know, you guys never cease to surprise me. Even after all this time. I guess that's why you're my favorites," He nods towards Dean. "Was this your idea?"

Dean stays silent, and apparently, that's enough of an answer.

"Sam?" God says, turning towards him. "You? Wow. I gotta say, not at all what I expected. Wow." He shakes his head, a deep sadness entering his voice. "You really think I'm the bad guy, here? The one that needs to be strategized away, compromised with? Never thought I'd be on this side of the Winchester story," He looks thoughtful. "I don't like it too much."

Sam feels a muscle is his jaw tic. He tries not to give it away. He thinks God notices anyway.

"I'll be honest," He says, casting a piercing gaze at them. "I didn't want to think about you guys for a while. I wanted to step back, examine my other creations. I was really disappointed by the outcome of our last meeting, you see. I was ignoring you, trying to figure out what I wanted to do next, how I wanted this to end. I'm glad you went and took the initiative! Takes away some of the pressure from me. I appreciate it, boys."

"Good to know," Dean says, clearly not in the mood for theatrics. Sam is never not gonna be amazed by the fact that his brother has no compunction about putting that tone for anyone who annoys him, from a bad delivery driver all the way up to the creator of the universe. Dean sure is something. "But we're offering, here. Can you tell us what you want, once and for all, so we can get to this 'end' that you keep talking about? 'Cause I gotta tell you, Sam and I aren't interested in playing games with you, here."

"Straight to business, huh? Okay, well," God says, sitting down on the back rest of a bench that pops into existence. He puts his elbow on his knees and leans forward, deceptively casual. "Like I was saying, I was trying to ignore this whole situation for a while. I really didn't want all this to end, If I'm being honest with you. But, you know, I guess it had to eventually, right? So, I'll give you this, for being such a wonderful example of my creations for all these years." He gestures towards them to come closer.

Sam moves haltingly forward. Dean hesitates, then follow his brother, grabbing at his elbow before he can get too close.

"Here's the deal. You get four months. I'll leave you alone. I'll even ignore you completely. You do your own thing, get research together, plan stuff, whatever. Your allies get that boon, too, especially Castiel. Basically, you can look into anything you think you can do to beat me. Then, we meet back here and we end it. One way or another." God takes his elbow off his knees and spreads his hands, like he's presenting something special. "What do you say?"

"Why should we trust you?" Sam says stonily. "You could watch us the whole time and we'd never know you were there."

"Is 'have faith' good enough for you?" God asks. Sam shakes his head.

"Wow," God says. "You really have changed, Sam. Weren't you always the guy who had faith, no matter what? Couldn't even get the Cage to beat that one out of you."

Sam gives him a stony look. "Can't really have faith anymore when the thing you're supposed to have faith in turns out to be a lie."

God tsks softly, shaking his head. "Ouch. That one really hurt, Sam. You're supposed to be the guy who never let anything get him down. Gotta admit, you've really disappointed me with that one."

"Okay," Dean interrupts before Sam can reply. "Enough. We're not here to play around, or to listen to what you think about us. All we want to know is how we're supposed to follow through knowing you'll keep up your end of the bargain."

"You don't," God says, shrugging. "But think about it. What fun would it be if I listened in and knew everything you were going to do before you did it? What satisfaction would I get if I just killed you guys when you're not expecting it? None. So you can use the time to live in fear and be suspicious or whatever, or you can just carry on and do what I've asked."

Sam's been breathing deep and heavy, but it does nothing against the encroaching, overwhelming feeling of grief and resignation. "Why do you want to do this?" He asks desperately. "What do you get out of this? What do you _want _from us?"

"You know what I want." God shrugs, unaffected. "I've told you. I want a good ending to this story. I've invested a lot of time and energy into you two, and I want that reflected in how it ends, no matter how that end actually happens. So, what'll it be, guys? Do you accept the deal?"

Sam glances back at his brother. Dean has a thoughtful frown on his face, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. He makes eye contact with Sam and gives him one sharp nod.

Alright, then.

"We accept," Sam says, holding out his hand. "And we're going to go into it assuming you'll hold up your end of the bargain."

God strides over to him and grabs his hand, pumping it up and own enthusiastically. "I knew you'd go for it!" He says, letting go and moving on to Dean. "It's a deal, then!" He makes to repeat the handshake on Dean, but Dean pulls away his hand before God can grab it.

"Not gonna happen, dude." Dean says, wrinkling his nose with disgust.

God just laughs. "Never change, Dean," He says, fondness permeating his voice. "You're one of the most unique of my creations."

"Don't congratulate yourself on that one," Dean huffs. "I'm all me. That wasn't on you."

"If you say so," God shrugs, still chuckling. "If that's everything, I'll start the countdown and be on my way. Don't forget: right here in four month's time. I'll see you guys then."

God inclines his head at them, and then hesitates.

"Before I go, I want to say this. I'd be ready to lose, if I were you," He says, winking at them. "I'd use these months to put your affairs in order, do whatever you want. Go see the Grand Canyon. You know, life stuff. Anyway. Good luck, and all that."

He's about to leave, and Sam suddenly can't take it anymore.

"Were you like this the whole time, Chuck?" Sam tells him, a last-ditch effort to maybe bring back the guy they knew. "What happened to you?"

God rolls his eyes. "So dramatic, Sam," He says, giving him a condescending smile. "Chuck didn't even technically exist in the first place."

And with another wink, he vanishes.

* * *

Castiel's return to the Bunker is met with silence.

He hadn't been expecting a welcoming party by any means, but he had been anticipating seeing the brothers hard at work, doing research and the like. The absolute silence he encounters instead feels extremely ominous.

Castiel walks further into the Bunker. "Sam? Dean?" He calls into the rooms. Nothing.

He frowns, pulling out his cell phone. No missed calls, no text messages. Wherever they went, they didn't—or weren't able to—contact him about it first.

Worry beating hard in his chest now, Castiel unlocks his phone and quickly scrolls through the contacts, finding Dean first through his alphabetical advantage and hitting the number…

Right as the door slams open and the man himself waltzes through the door in his usual brash style. He freezes in the entryway as his eyes lock onto Castiel clutching his phone to his ear as his own phone begins to ring.

Sam's appearance behind his brother breaks the strange spell, and Castiel hastily puts his phone back down and ends the call. "I was wondering where the two of you had disappeared to," He remarks, as the brothers clamber down the steps into the war room. "I received no messages telling me that you would be gone."

"Yeah, sorry, Cas," Sam says, sounding perhaps more guilty than necessary. "We should have told you. We didn't mean to worry you."

Sam glances sideways at her brother, but Dean seems to be avoiding eye contact with him. Castiel notices this, suspicion staring to knock into his mind. "Where were you?"

"What did you find out?" Dean grunts, avoiding the question. He also seems to be trying his best not to look at Castiel directly.

This irritates him, but he decides to let it go for efficiency's sake, for now at least. "I was able to access Heaven, and to be honest, it's a mess," He stalks off to sit at the table, not waiting for the brothers to catch up. "Only Naomi is left there running the day-to-day business. She also refused to help us, and provide any assistance at all, really."

"That's a shame," Sam says, sitting down next to him. "I guess it's about what we expected, though."

"Agreed," Castiel says, leaning on his forearms. He is suddenly exhausted. "There was something weird, though. Naomi mentioned something about a cycle occurring soon, and I don't think she intended on letting it slip. Does that sound familiar to you?"

Dean also sits at the table, but positions himself far away from Sam and Castiel. "Sounds deliberately generic to me," He says, dismissive. "Sounds to me like she was trying to pull one on you to put you off track. No way do the angels go against anything God tells them to do."

"Incorrect," Castiel says icily. "I did."

Dean just grunts again, but doesn't acknowledge his point.

"And anyway," Castiel continues. "I really don't think she meant me to hear that. Immediately after she said it, she ejected me from Heaven. It was all very strange."

Sam sighs loudly. "I agree, Cas. We'll look into it. Thanks for letting us know. We'll research that, it'll give us a great place to start."

Castiel hesitates. He also wants to share the other piece of information Naomi provided him with, but he also does not want to contribute to the tension that already exists within the room. They should probably know, though. Probably.

"Also," Castiel says, deciding to go for it. "Naomi told me that Jack is in the Empty, and also refused to help me get him out."

Dean stiffens, tension running through the lines of his shoulders. Sam, conversely, sinks back into the chair, as if suddenly boneless. "Is…do we know if he's conscious in there?" Sam says, rubbing a hand over his face. "He might be able to get out, maybe, if he's awake."

"He might be," Castiel admits. "But I doubt he'd be able to get out even if he is. The Empty is powerful, and the only way out is, well, to play on its own terms. I doubt that he will…"

And Castiel trails off, realizing that he could have given his deal away, but nobody seems to catch on.

_I guess sometimes, it's good they don't pay attention to me_, He thinks, watching as Sam gives a tired nod and Dean does his best to not be involved in the conversation.

"Okay," Sam says, nodding rapidly to himself. "Alright. So. We'll add that to our tasks, then. We'll try to find a way to get him out, get him back to Heaven if we have to."

Castiel smiles at Sam, hoping that he can read his gratitude from that (Castiel knows that _he _doesn't always understand intentional expressions, so he hopes this one makes sense), while Dean just grows even more tense before finally looking up and opening his mouth.

"No," Sam says, shortly, pre-emptively. "We're doing that, Dean. I'm not going to hear another word about it."

To Castiel's surprise—and glee—Dean snaps his mouth shut and continues to glare at the table. Seeing Sam stand up to Dean is so rare, and such a spectacle to watch, that Castiel almost forgets to ask what they've been up to.

Almost.

"So, I've shared my information," Castiel says, gesturing towards the two of them. "And so, it's your turn now. What have you found?"

And it's like he's dropped a bomb right there in the middle of the room. Dean's posture stiffens so much that he's shaking with fine tremors, and Sam's eyes suddenly begin to dart all around the room and his guilty look multiplies by about a factor of ten. Castiel's feeling of foreboding increases as a result. Sam especially has never been good at lying, and his overreaction to Castiel's earlier query makes him think they are keeping something very, very big from him.

"What happened?" Castiel asks, eyes jumping from Sam to Dean and back. "What aren't you telling me?"

"We called God," Sam says eventually. "And He gave us an ultimatum. Four months to do any research we wanted, and he'd turn a blind eye to it. We meet him back in the graveyard, and duke it out, one last time. Those were the terms."

There's a beat of silence as Castiel tries to process the information that he's just been told. It doesn't work.

"Are you insane?" He breathes out, trying to wrestle himself back into control. "Have you completely lost your minds?"

"Cas," Sam tries, but Castiel doesn't let him. Not this time.

"Do you know what you've done?" Castiel asks, voice rising with every word. "Are you aware of the consequences of this deal that you've made? Haven't you learned by now not to tie yourselves to deals with beings that are more powerful than you? Don't you know that He's just toying with you?"

Dean interrupts just as he's beginning to pick up steam. "We know about consequences," He says, matter-of-fact. "We were actually trying to deal with this in a way that would result in the best consequences. With the least amount of collateral damage. So that nobody has to suffer, and guess what? You're completely in the loop about it. No lying here."

Castiel stares in disbelief. "Are you joking?" He asks, incredulous. "Did you really just make a dig at me? Did you consider me at all? Did you ask me before making this deal, knowing I'd be involved? It's wrong, you _know_ it's wrong, you wouldn't be feeling so guilty about that otherwise."

Sam swallows. Dean objects with an "I _don't _feel…" but Castiel speaks over his token protest.

"You _do_!" Castiel shouts. "Why would you do this without even telling me? Do you trust me so little? After everything? And _why _would you play His game? Why would you give up so quickly?"

"I'm sorry, Cas," Sam says, forlorn. "I really am. And we should have told you before making the deal, definitely. But you know, I don't regret it. I think our history is exactly why taking that deal was the right thing to do. All we do, over and over again, is fight and hustle and work so we can have our cake and eat it too. And inevitably, people get hurt, and people die, and we keep going. And honestly, I don't think it's fair. Not anymore."

This sudden burst of passion takes Castiel by surprise. These days, it's buried so deep within Sam that it's easy to forget that he used to be the boy with the demon blood, so ruled by emotion that he nearly destroyed the world with it. This mature, tapered down version of Sam hasn't lost his fire by any means, but has just grown so afraid of it that he tends to shy away from feeling anything energetically, when he can.

Now, he needs to rely on that fire, to remind Sam of what he still has. "You need to fight!" Castiel is incensed. "Not just for the world but for yourselves and each other! You can't tell me that you feel okay with leaving this world behind to be controlled by God, now that he's revealed his true nature! Not with all that you've, all that _we've _sacrificed for it already!"

Sam's mouth goes tight around the corners: a visible effort to tamp himself down yet again, to stay inoffensive, unthreatening. "No," He says, restraint visible in his voice. "This is the best way I can see leaving the world behind. Reality is, this is God's world to do with as he likes. We can't change that and we can't change him, no matter how much—" And here his façade cracks, and the hurt and disbelief shine through. The shattering of faith is so evident that it's leaking out of every word. "No matter how much we want to."

Castiel stares despondently. Sam will not move, he can see that. Dean, though. Dean might.

Castiel turns towards him, instead. "Dean," He pleads, desperation shooting up several notches. "You know this is a fool's errand, right? You know He's just setting you up to fail."

Dean just sighs. The fight leeches out of him slowly, leaving only despair. "Cas," He says, sounding exhausted, but Castiel interrupts him.

"You can't do this! Not now. Not when the world needs you the most. Not when—" He wants to say _when I need you the most_ but he's not allowed to go there.

"And why shouldn't I?" Dean demands, and there's the righteous indignation again, right on schedule. "Free will, right? That's what we've been fighting for? And here we are. Free Will-ing it, by trying to gain control of the how and where we get to fight. You see this as giving up, I see this as giving us a better chance. I don't know why you're so worked up about this, anyway. Isn't this what you wanted? To be 'finished with this'? Well. This gets you what you want. Congratulations."

Castiel's anger vanishes, just like that. "Is that what you believe?" He asks, pained. "Is that what you really think of me?"

"You don't actually have to do this," Dean says, soft-spoken but dangerous. "You can just leave, like you said you would. You don't have to involve yourself in this anymore. It can just end for you now. But Sam and I have committed to this. You can stay and help, or you can leave. It's your choice."

"Of course," Castiel says, his voice cracking. "Of _course_ I'll help you. Don't all those years count for something? I am here to stay. I'm team Winchester, all the way. I know…I know that got lost sometimes. On both our ends. But when it comes down to it? I'm part of this, part of whatever happens to the two of you, because you're both a very important part of my life. And I love you."

Castiels stares them down, one after another, willing for them to hear him, to understand what he's trying to say. The Bunker feels too small, too inadequate to handle the enormity of the emotions of the conversation that they're having right now. Dean looks like he's been punched in the face with the sudden intensity of it all. Sam looks equal parts stressed and touched, and the tears forming in his eyes could be a product of either.

"I believe in the both of you," Castiel says, feeling the burn of moisture in his own eyes, a mirror of Sam's. "And I believe in me, too. So we're going to buckle down, we're going to do the research, and we're going to win. And this will all end, and we will all be able to rest. I promise. We will."

Sam breaks first. He blinks away the tears, looks down, and nods shakily: the emotions have clearly gotten to him, and he's working on rebuilding his walls, on keeping everything in. Dean, Dean is a harder sell, and Castiel doesn't know if he's convinced him. He keeps that deer-in-the-headlights look that he adopts when faced with any kind of extreme emotion. This can go either way with Dean, Cas knows that. He hopes that he's made the right play.

And then Dean blinks, relaxes, and Castiel knows that he's gotten through to him, too.

"Team Free Will 3.0," Dean says wryly, clearing his throat. "Okay, folks. Once more unto the breach. Let's do this."

**Next time**: A short contemplation within Team Free Will's four month deadline


	7. Nocturnal Creatures

Chapter 7: Nocturnal Creatures

The ripples that had been formed in the void are still there. This makes Him irritated. He comes here to escape from that, escape from the flaws and cracks of the material world. That they follow him here is unacceptable.

He makes to erase the ripples, but it only serves to spread them further, extending them further into nothingness. The lack of control that He has here, in his own domain, is extremely frustrating.

He senses that the alien presences have returned, popping into the void with their condescending attitudes and their mocking advice and their irksome amusement. The thought blares out into the void, only serving to amuse them further.

_It is done_, They say into the darkness. _What is put into motion cannot be undone. That is the way of the universe_.

He does not appreciate double-speak, and makes it known.

_Don't you call yourself a writer? _A hint of sarcasm. _Don't you subsist on irony, on turn-of-phrase? What has happened to you?_

Let me be, he wants to say, to scream. Let me be.

_Impossible. _A hint of sympathy this time. Somehow, this is worse. _That is not our job._

He suddenly feels trapped, confined. There is nowhere to go, nothing that he can do where he can restore his own sense of power, of control. He hasn't felt this way since, since—

_We have told you time and time again to be ready for this. Every time, it is a fight. Every time, you are not ready._

There is nothing to be ready for. He will make sure of it. He will. He only needs to be left alone, and then He will make it so.

_You can try. It will make no difference_. And then They wink out of the void. Relieved, He returns to studying the ripples, thinking on how to scrub them out.

First this. And then, everything else.

**Next time**: Revelations, research, and Rowena, four months later.


	8. 4 AM

Chapter 8: 4 AM

FOUR MONTHS LATER

They really, _really _need to get proper cleaning supplies, because _wow_. The Bunker can get grimy as hell after barely leaving it for four months.

This runs through Sam's mind more and more often these days. In the past three weeks or so, the dust surrounding the library, dispersing every time he moves a book, has caused him to go into a severe coughing fit no less than ten times. Dean witnessed the ninth one and laughed his ass off for way too long, only getting concerned when Sam started to turn red from the force of the coughing. Sam had slapped the back of his head when he felt better anyway, because Dean was an asshole and deserved it. That whole episode had helped his case, though, and Dean returned the next day with actual, store-bought antibacterial surface wipes. Sam's pretty sure he must have looked like he was punched in the face when Dean tossed those to him.

It's a pretty sad bright spot to have, but hey, Sam's taking those where he can get them. The past four months have been…difficult, in ways too numerous to count. For one, Sam hasn't been this sedentary for this long since his time with Amelia and, well, that's not something he likes thinking about. It's strange sticking around in one place for months at a time, leaving only to buy things and for the occasional jog to clear his mind. Sam had, to his brother's dismay, outright refused to go on any hunts and spent pretty much all of his time fully imbued in research. He usually passes them on through Jody, who has stepped up pretty admirably as the new Bobby—in that she's every hunter's first point of contact—and provides research and information through his resources in the Bunker. Dean, not one to sit on his ass for any length of time, had ventured out to do some hunts that were closer by, accompanied either by Cas or another hunter, at Sam's insistence. Just because he felt unparalleled levels of anxiety and guilt at the mere thought of leaving the research alone for a few days did not mean he was willing to compromise Dean's safety, and had dug his heels in every time Dean suggested leaving without backup. He kind of felt like a freeloader at times, staying back and letting Dean and others take on the danger, but he had figured that he would be no help to anyone if he was distracted by leaving his research behind.

And that leads to another reason these past few months have been so weird: Sam's pretty sure he's developed some kind of permanent stress ulcer by now. The first couple weeks, he'd buried himself in the books and had not emerged from the library at all, catching quick naps in there for sleep and barely able to eat at all. By day 12, Dean had given up on the yelling and cajoling and shoving food in front of his face and had actually physically dragged him out of the library, complaining that _that's enough man you really __**need **__to take a shower_ and that had more or less snapped Sam out of his research stupor. He'd taken a shower and then collapsed in his bed and slept for 15 hours. Yeah, Dean had been pretty smug about _that_ one was Sam finally woke up and ran into a wall on his way to the kitchen.

So, he's not as bad as that anymore—he actually goes outside now, once in a while—but he's been working pretty much non-stop throughout all four months of their deadline. It's also given him the opportunity to fully appreciate the breadth of resources available in the Bunker—there's so much here, Sam can't believe it's theirs, even now—and get a move on the shelving system that he'd started when they'd first moved in. Over time, he, Dean, and Cas have developed their own research directions and focuses, which honestly is more efficient anyway, so Sam had just let it happen.

Cas and Dean have, at this point, been going full throttle on trying to link anything about a cycle to divine power, or to God. Cas has also been working on looking into, and trying to get information from, the Reapers and what they know about how beings enter and leave the Empty. Interestingly, Cas had also found out that Billie had disappeared somewhere around the time they had had their initial graveyard showdown, which had apparently caused quite the stir amongst the reapers and had left them flailing, leaderless, for a while. Dean hadn't been too concerned—he'd actually found the image pretty funny—but Sam's stomach had flipped uncomfortably when Cas told them the news. If _that _isn't proof that something big, _really _big, was looming on the horizon, then he doesn't know what is. He still gets a pit in his stomach whenever he thinks about it.

Sam for his part, has been working closely with Rowena to look into the lore on vessels and their abilities, and they'd found something tucked into a small book in the bowels of the Bunker, innocently displayed next to an 1868 almanac. It was a treatise about angels and their ability to walk along the human race, and contained some fairly accurate conclusions about the manner in which angels were able to use the bodies of others. The kicker was, the author of the treatise also hypothesized that, since God was presumably made out of the same divine material as the angels, that He employed a similar technique in walking the material world. _That _little theory had caused the shit to hit the fan. Sam and Rowena had debated endlessly: did that mean Chuck had been a person that was now possessed by God? What did possession by God even mean? Did it also require consent? Was it possible that God was under the same limitations as angels with regards to his presence on Earth? And on and on and on until Dean had grown tired of it and demanded that they _focus on what we're here for, goddammit, save the scholarly talk for the conference _and asked if the information would help them at all. Sam had suggested that if it were true, and because both of them had bodies that were built for angelic possession, that they could potentially be possessed by God and survive. Potentially.

Dean had stared at him for a good few minutes, and then disappeared into the kitchen and emerged with the good scotch that they had on hand. He'd announced that they were all talking crazy and needed a break, so Sam, Dean, Cas, and Rowena had then proceeded to get blackout drunk. It was the most fun Sam could remember having in ages. The next morning, Dean had pulled him aside, quietly, and told Sam to keep him updated on what that discovery could potentially mean for the both of them, and for the larger plan they were slowly building.

That's all well and good, but there's not much time left, now. The late-night research sessions are getting desperate. But, they do have a sort-of-plan, which Dean claims is better than no plan at all, and it looks like this is what it's gonna come to if Sam can't find anything at the eleventh hour. Basically, Dean and Cas had, with the help of the leaderless Reapers, discussed the possibility of getting God to the Empty, which would place him in a position of vulnerability and put everything at a level playing field. Since Amara was…unavailable (and God knows—literally—if she was actually all right. Sam has trouble believing that) there would be nobody that could match his abilities anywhere else. The Empty would place them all as equals, and would also serve as a place to trap him forever should he not cooperate. That way, the universe doesn't die, and God stays safely out of the way. Wins all around.

The problem, of course, lies in exactly how to get Him there. To their knowledge, the only way to get to the Empty is, well, to be an angel or demon and get killed. Cas had pushed initially for a suicide run: taking himself out in God's vicinity and hoping that would take them both to the Empty ala Dick Roman. Sam and Dean had shot that idea down pretty quick, even though Cas has fought for it pretty adamantly. In the end, they had agreed on using Sam and Rowena's theory on divine possession to lure him there. They had been pretty confident on the fact that, if it was possible, God would not hesitate to possess one of them, probably hoping to play out his dream version of their story (that sick bastard). While he was possessing one of them, they'd have their Reaper allies—the only ones who'd agreed to help out, go figure—get them to the Empty, where hopefully God would be forcefully ejected from his vessel and appear in his original form. And then, they'd be able to enact the rest of it.

So, that was the plan. But Sam isn't convinced it's completely put together and he'd been doing some of his own work to try to make something a little more solid.

Sam has—on his own time, huddled in corners of the library in the dead of night—been working on a research project of his own. Ever since God let slip that he had, in fact, nothing to do with their escape from the graveyard, Sam's mind has been working a mile a minute to try and figure out exactly how they had left there. Combining that unsolved mystery with the research he'd accessed on vessels, and his own personal history, he has a bit of a working theory. Albeit one that's a little…

Well.

The short version is, Sam's pretty sure at this point that he himself had something to do with their initial escape from the graveyard. The feeling he'd gotten right before they'd been wooshed out of there had, upon future reflection, felt pretty similar to when he'd wooshed demons out of their hosts, back when he'd been using his powers. It had taken a long time to pinpoint because, well, it had been a long time since he'd used his powers—he'd been in his mid-twenties, just a little kid compared to now—but now he's pretty sure that it was the same sensation. He hasn't really shared all that with Dean or Cas just yet, as that part of their history is still difficult to talk about. Dean especially still gets tense and monosyllabic when he remembers the times where the biggest thing they had to worry about was Sam's mysterious abilities and how he was connected to the Yellow-Eyed Demon. Sam thinks it's funny to think about now. Dean, however, remains upset, like it's a wound that he's never quite healed from.

That more or less translates to Sam wanting to keep quiet on his suspicions, just until he can confirm them. Which, if he's being honest with himself, isn't the full truth. It's not even like it's something he can confirm anyway, or test for, outside of actually trying to use his powers, which is emphatically _not _going to happen. No, it's more like he's avoiding talking to Dean about this, like maybe if he does they'll catapult back 11 years and count each other as being on the opposing team. And after everything, Sam wouldn't be able to handle that. He wouldn't.

So he's been sticking with a middle ground and researching a way to maybe use them to win the whole thing. But without telling Dean. And without experimenting on his powers. And yeah, it hasn't been going great, for both of those reasons.

All he can think of in the past few days with the deadline looming, though, is Ruby looking at him and smiling, all teeth, and whispering _Y__ou didn't need the feather to fly, you had it in you the whole time, Dumbo _and thinking that maybe, just maybe, she hadn't been lying about that one.

Sam stares into the distance, thoughtful. All this time he'd been assuming that he needed to drink demon blood to access his powers, and had stayed away from using them mainly because he never wanted to do that again, _ever_. But if Ruby was right, there's a chance that he'd be able to access them by himself. Which, honestly, would be more forgivable and might get Dean to come around on him using his abilities for this. He's not exactly chomping at the bit to use them, but he's willing if it becomes necessary.

Sam closes his eyes. _Focus_…

Feeling a little stupid, he tries to reach for the feeling he has when he accesses his powers. It's like…a pressurized pain in his head that builds and builds and builds before exploding out in whatever exorcism he's doing. The visions had felt similar, but he hadn't actually been working to access them consciously.

He concentrates, recreating his process of mental exorcism without a demonic external focus. Nothing happens for a few minutes, but then Sam starts to feel the too-familiar ache pounding in his skull. He pushes further, and the ache increases, and then…

And then Sam is pulled from his attempts by his cell phone starting to buzz incessantly near his elbow. He picks it up, expecting Dean—who's out talking to Violet, their new assigned reaper— or Cas—who is trying to contact any rogue angel in Heaven that he can find—to be on the other line. Instead, he is somewhat surprised to see Rowena's name on the screen. They'd talked earlier today, and Rowena had directed his attention to a spellbook that she had said had some pretty reliable information on the connection between the body and the divine, and would maybe hold answers on how to hold God in a physical body.

"How's it going, Rowena?" Sam tucks his phone under his ear, and walks over to the bookshelf, pulling out her recommendation that he hadn't gotten around to actually perusing yet. He makes a mental note to go back to his attempts at reawakening his powers after they hang up. "I've actually found that reference you mentioned, but I got stuck in this, like, manual of heavenly bodies and I found something that—"

"That's nice, Samuel," And Rowena barrels over him, like she doesn't have time to listen to his rambling "Listen, I've been looking into the issue of vessels further, and I've had a thought: wouldn't it be a surer thing if we had strength in numbers?"

Sam frowns. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Rowena says. "Are you boys the only intended vessels that you know of? It would be very helpful to recruit more of those to your side, see what potential that has. That way, if one or both of you are rejected as vessels, we have some potential backup."

Sam thinks about it. "Yeah, as far as I know, we are the only ones. I don't think Gabriel or Raphael had any even though they were archangels too. I think we were , like, custom-built for the Apocalypse or something. At least, that's the theory I'm currently operating on."

"So just you and Dean then?" Rowena asks, like he's personally responsible for the fact that there aren't any more people they can recruit into their 'let's defeat God!' plan. "Nobody else? At all?"

"Well…Adam was one too, I guess," Sam interjects, returning a three-hundred year old Bible to the shelf. He's pretty sure he saw Dean looking at his earlier, and he's clearly not using Sam's carefully constructed shelving system. Asshole.

"Who's Adam?" Rowena asks vaguely.

Sam feels the long-forgotten stirrings of loss. "Our younger half-brother," He explains, lost in the memory. "He died maybe ten years ago. Poor kid was pulled into the apocalypse just because of his connection to us."

"There's another Winchester brother?" Rowena sounds intense, suddenly. Pointed.

Sam blinks, surprised at the accusation in her voice. "I…yeah. I mean, he's dead now. I don't really know where he ended up, but I really hope he's in Heaven. Michael had possessed him, and I pulled him down with me to the Cage when—"

"He's your _younger _brother? Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure!" Sam abandons his shelving. "What is it? Why does that matter."

Rowena is silent. Minutes tick by, and Sam's disquiet rises. "Rowena?" Sam asks. "What?"

"Samuel," Rowena says slowly, deliberately. "There is one thing I know about this true vessel business. In order for the bloodline connection to work, the intended vessels have to mirror them directly. In the case of Michael and Lucifer, it had to be the eldest brother and the youngest brother."

Sam frowns. "And?"

"And," Rowena says slowly, like she's speaking to a toddler. "If there's a third brother, the youngest one, that doesn't work. At least, not with Dean as Michael's vessel and yours as Lucifer's."

Sam's vision tunnels. "I…He's…_What?_"

"I think," Rowena says, still speaking slowly. "Adam might have been Lucifer's vessel, intended or not. Dean was still Michael's. You, though. You didn't belong to either of them, under the rules of magic."

"But," Sam legs aren't very secure, all of a sudden. He collapses onto a chair, nearly missing it. "Lucifer thought I was. He possessed me. We almost ended the world. And he's our half-brother; he doesn't get any significance of bloodline from our mom's side of the family. That doesn't…that doesn't make sense."

"You're in the same bloodline, regardless if you don't share full parentage. Any of those angels could possess any of you three. You said that Adam was successfully possessed by Michael, correct?"

Sam nods, forgetting that Rowena can't see him. "Yeah," He whispers. "He was."

"There you are!" Rowena says. "And you were possessed by Lucifer. Looks like neither of them were in their intended vessels. No wonder the Apocalypse failed! Those heavenly morons couldn't figure out who the right brothers were to possess."

Sam snorts automatically (it's always funny hearing Rowena talk shit about the angels), but his mind it whirring. "That can't be right," He says. "I was prepared all my life to be the vessel. Everyone told me I was Lucifer's: the demons, the angels, even Lucifer himself. There's no way they were _all _wrong about that."

"I don't know about that," Rowena sounds dismissive. "Those angels, for all their supposed prophecies and destinies and sureties, don't have the best track record when it comes to making the correct decisions. I think the only person who'd know for sure is God, and, well, he seems to be completely on his own side for this one."

"It's not like they didn't know about Adam, though," Sam argues, because this _can't _be true. It can't. "Couldn't they have come to the same conclusion once they found out about him? If this could be true at all?"

Rowena snorts. "You know, for beings that presumably control the fate of the universe, they don't seem to know much about the rules that govern them. No sense whatsoever about magic, about the forces of nature. I'd bet my best hex bag that the thought never even occurred to them, they're so ill-versed on the laws of the universe."

"But," Sam says, shaking his head, like saying no enough times will make it unture. "I had, I have, powers. I was picked based on the very fact that I had those powers, that they were made for Lucifer to use. How does that make sense, if I wasn't intended to be his vessel?"

"Does Dean have any powers?" Rowena asks. "Is that a necessary part of being a vessel?"

Sam is shocked into silence. "No," He says slowly, feeling the information start to buzz in the back of his brain. "He doesn't. Not that we're aware of."

"Well, there you are, then," She says, almost smugly. "Whatever powers you may have—thanks ever so much for telling me about those, by the way, and we _are _getting back to that later—seem to be completely unrelated to your position as a potential vessel. Congratulations. You're just a very special little snowflake."

Sam huffs. At this point, he thinks vaguely, nothing should surprise him anymore. He is making the executive decision to just not feel things anymore. His life would be a lot easier that way.

Rowena takes his non-answer and barrels right over it. "This may mean, Samuel, that our supply of true vessels was just halved. You're in the same bloodline and can clearly hold an archangel, but it seems that you're not an intended vessel. And if we can't find anybody else, this plan rides solely on Dean. He better be up for the task, or we should start looking for more potential vessels in the, what, three days we have left."

"Yeah," He says mechanically. "You're right. I'll tell Dean."

"Wonderful," Rowena says, business-like, like she didn't just upend his very fabric of existence in the past couple of minutes. "You do that. I'll do some searching of my own, and I'll call you later with the details. Goodbye!"

The line abruptly turns off. Sam lowers his phone from his ear and deposits it on the table. He lines his back up with the straight-backed chair, and waits.

Sam doesn't know how long he sat there, staring at his phone, until he hears a door slamming open Dean's voice growing closer to the doorway. He blinks, shocked back into his body, and aimlessly picks up his phone. It doesn't turn on. The battery's dead.

Dean stomps in the doorway, shaking his jacket around like a dog, spraying water in Sam's hair. "Dude, it's coming down like crazy out there, I swear I feel I was gonna drown—"

Dean trails off, seeing Sam's expression. "What? What'd you find?"

Sam just shakes his head.

"Sam?" Dean glares at him, looking torn between fear and hope. His wet clothes gather droplets on the floor "Tell me."

Sam opens his mouth, fully intending to say _I'm so sorry Dean, I can''t find anything _but they've been down that road before, and their team is on shaky grounds as it is and he can't be the one to mess it up again, he can't.

"I think," Sam says, "I was never Lucifer's vessel."

"Um," Dean says shaking his head. "Excuse me? Did you just say—"

"According to Rowena," Sam gestures towards the phone. "Adam had to have the vessel, because he was the youngest brother. She says that that's how the rules of natural magic work, and even angels can't counteract that."

"Sorry?" Dean looks blindsided. He hasn't even taken off his jacket yet.

"Yeah. And so. Because of that, I'm _a _vessel but probably not one of _the _vessels, you know, and that leaves us down to just you as the most viable candidate and we should probably go out there and find somebody else."

Sam's sentence peters out with his breath. Dean is still staring at him.

"No. No no no no no. Wait," Dean holds up a hand, like that's going to stop their world from turning on it's head. "That…that makes no sense, dude. Listen to yourself. We are _not _jumping right to what this might mean for whatever shit is going on right now, okay? _How _could you not be Lucifer's vessel? We've been told that you are by literally everything in the universe that knows anything at all. Wasn't that why Azazel set all this off in this first place with the powers and shit? To prepare you for this? It just…I don't buy it, man. I don't."

Sam shrugs, still dazed. "Rowena says that my powers and stuff are separate from the whole vessel thing because, well, you didn't end up with any. Rowena also says—"

Dean interrupts him, sharp with disbelief. "And how are you going to take Rowena's word over the word of, like, everything else _ever_? I know angels and demons are all dicks and as it turns out so is God, but you'd think they'd know their stuff better than one witch. Rowena's good, I know, but are we trusting that she's right over all of that evidence?"

Sam shrugs again. It's all he can do. "it just…I dunno, it just _feels _right. And I think it explains a lot, especially with the fact that nothing actually worked out. Like, that was supposed to be the _Apocalypse_, dude. And Satan couldn't keep hold of me. Maybe that was less of my personal ability to kick him out and more of the fact that he wasn't actually supposed to be possessing me in the first place."

"Okay," Dean says, covering his face with his hands. "You're gonna need to give me a second to process this. Just…just give me a second, okay? Silence."

Sam understands that, he really does, but the reality is they don't have time to process "Also. Um. I've been keeping something from you. Something pretty big."

"Oh _god_," Dean says, keeping his hands on his face, voice coming out muffled. "_What_? What now? Wait. Do I even wanna know?"

Sam huffs, trying to project sympathy. His heart is pounding. This could go very, very wrong. "You're gonna need to sit down."

"_Fuck _that," Dean says, collapsing onto a chair anyway. He's gonna get the seat wet, Sam thinks vaguely. "Don't give me any of that shit. Just tell me, dude."

"Well. Um. I think I know how we got out of the graveyard."

Dean finally lifts his head up, pinning Sam with a piercing stare. "Okay. What? Was it fucking Lucifer or something?"

Sam clears his throat. "Um…"

"You've got to be _fucking—_"

"No!" Sam interrupts. "No, it wasn't! Lucifer has nothing to with it!"

"Oh thank _fuck_," Dean says, then sighs heavily. "How, then?"

Sam takes a breath. "I think it was me," He confesses.

He purposefully doesn't look at Dean, and continues to ramble on, hearing the desperation in his own voice. "I didn't tell you earlier because I wasn't exactly _sure _it was me but I've been working on it and the headache I got when we left was exactly the same as the one I had when I would do my exorcisms. And even then I wasn't 100% so I just tested it now and it turns out—"

Dean cuts him off abruptly. "You _tested_ it? What does that mean? Tested it how?"

"I just concentrated," Sam hastens to reassure his brother, thinking _oh god he probably thinks I sucked down some demon blood_. "And I started getting the same type of headache and I could feel something start building but I didn't actually get to the point where anything happened. So, yeah. I think maybe we could, uh, use this too. Against God, maybe. Especially if he doesn't know I have them."

Dean is silent for a while. "Are you sure it was you who got us out?" He asks eventually. "You've never actually done anything like that before. And even if you can, how do you do that, like, accidentally?"

"It's just the same feeling, man," Sam says, feeling more and more helpless. "I dunno how to explain it. The moment we teleported out, I had that feeling. It just…it took me a while to place it, because. You know. It's been a while. As for doing it accidentally: when I had the visions, I wasn't doing those on purpose either. They kinda just had a mind of their own, almost. Maybe this one is manifesting in a similar way."

"The visions? Wow, Sam, not the best way to bring me around on this," Dean sits back in the chair, crosses his arms. "How couldn't you tell me about this?"

Sam shrugs. "I just…I wasn't sure, yet. I didn't want to worry you when I wasn't even sure there was anything to worry about."

Dean snorts. "There is a _shit _ton to worry about right now. This would've just been another one in the pile, dude. But the whole point is that we can worry about that kind of thing together, instead of you taking it all on by yourself."

"You get why I did though, right?" Sam says, not letting it go. "This subject isn't one that's actually, well…easy to talk about. For either of us."

Dean nods slowly. "I get it," He says carefully, and Sam is honestly surprised he got there so quickly. "I just…this is not what I expected to have to deal with again, you know? But it's different now. We're both different now. And I said earlier that I have your back now, and I meant it. If you think you can use whatever freako powers you have, and that you can control them this time around, then I trust you. Just tell me about it."

Of all the things Sam had expected to hear from his brother, this was not one of them. "Do you mean that?" He says, feeling like they're at a crossroads, one they've been approaching for over a decade now. "You're really okay with this?"

Dean holds his hand up, almost defeated. "I said I would be, so I am."

Sam just nods. "Thank you," He says, throat tightening. To him, Dean's acceptance on this means everything. And it gives him hope that just maybe, they might actually win this whole thing.

Of course, that's when he gets the call.

Sam jumps as the phone starts to ring again, Rowena's name displayed on the screen. He picks up, "Rowena?"

He hears Rowena's voice: tinny, like she's speaking from a distance. "What do you want?"

Sam darts a look towards Dean, then puts the phone on speaker. "Rowena?" He asks again, firmly. "Rowena, what is it?"

* * *

Rowena hangs up the phone, shaking her head. Those boys really are something. The sheer number of ways that they are significant to the universe never ceases to amaze her.

It's evident, though, that Sam occupies a different role in all of this, a role that even he didn't seem to know about. He has to. With an elder brother and a younger brother already accounted for, his abilities must stem from something else.

She leans back against her chair, setting down the mug she just picked up, deep in thought. Sam's shared all the information that they'd found with her, and it all just keeps rolling around in her mind. There's something there…it's just at the tip of her tongue, right on the edges of her mind.

_Sam. The vessels. The cycle…_

Oh.

_Oh. Oh my…_

Rowena scrambles for her phone, scrolling to find Sam's number. Her hands are shaking. She's so lost in the implications that she doesn't see it coming until it's too late.

"Hello, Rowena."

Rowena about jumps a mile. She turns quickly, only to see a bearded man leaning against her table, taking a sip of her peppermint tea. "This is good stuff," He tells her, tapping the gleaming purple mug. "Really slimming, I hear."

Rowena stares at the man that she knows as Chuck, and that everyone else knows as God. "Yes," She says shakily. Her finger hovers on the touchscreen, out of sight. "Quite."

"I see you've been sticking with the Winchesters," Chuck continues, taking another sip of her tea. "They really are a pain, aren't they? Can't do a damn thing by themselves. Can't ever figure out anything important by themselves. Always going to the likes of you for help."

"I can't help that I'm their go-to witch. Those poor boys would be lost without me." She selects Sam's name, sees the phone ring.

Chuck smiles benignly at her, putting her mug down. "Of course, I was fine with that when you were just…well, discussing lore, and such. But you were about to call them with some news, weren't you?" He strides closer, confident. "Well, we can't have this, now could we?"

Rowena lowers the phone slowly. She hears Sam's panicked voice from the other end, but it sounds distant.

"What do you want?" She asks him, pitching her voice louder, hoping that Sam catches it.

"Humans ask that a lot," Chuck says lifting his arm up. "Yeah. You _are _human. Don't argue with me, I know these things."

Rowena doesn't retreat, like she wants to. She tilts her chin up instead, meeting him head-on. "That doesn't answer my question."

"I suppose it doesn't," Chuck says calmly, pointing towards her, index finger and thumb straightened and the rest of his fingers curled in a fist. "But I think you already know the answer. I can't have you spoiling the story for those boys. Gotta have them get there all by themselves."

Rowena can feel the fine tremors running throughout her body. She knows Chuck can see them too. "And why not?"

"Oh, you know," And Chuck starts moving his finger-gun hand, pointing it at different parts of her body, deliberating. "Won't make the story complete otherwise." He stops at her stomach and makes a satisfied sound. "This will do for a start. And…bang!"

He puts his thumb down, and a searing pain rips through her stomach. She screams and drops to her knees, the agony taking her completely by surprise.

"You see," Chuck says, over her pained gasps. "I could tell you were on to something, here. And we can't let them have access to something like _that _so easily, right?"

"Like _what_?" Rowena gasps out, clenching her teeth through the pain. "_What _are you worried about them finding out, exactly?"

Chuck smirks, and Rowena's heart sinks. "Why? So I can tell Sam on the phone, there?" He raises his voice in a mock-friendly fashion. "Hey, boys! Hope your research is going well."

He moves his hand again, pointing to her chest. He doesn't warn her this time, and the sharp burst of pain causes her to scream again, and collapse on her back to the floor.

She slams her eyes shut. Breathing slowly, trying to control her agony, she feels Chuck lean over her. She feels his beard tickle at her face, and the soft sounds of his words in her ear. "What is it, Rowena?" He asks softly, the letters lapping sibilantly in her brain. "What were you going to tell those boys?"

Wait…_what_?

Rowena is shocked momentarily out of the pain. Her eyes fly open again, and she sees Chuck lean back over to maintain eye contact. He looks calm, confident—like always—but this close, Rowena can see something else in his eyes. Something more…uncertain.

Suddenly, she understands.

"You don't know," She breathes out, and Chuck's expression shuts down instantly. "You have no idea. That's why you came here, isn't it? You could tell that I'd realized something, but not exactly what I'd found out. And you want me to tell you, don't you?"

This time, the agony that sears through her head is not preceded by a hand gesture. Chuck looks serious now, all hint of joviality and fun have vanished. "You know," He says, over her choked gasps. "You don't owe the Winchester anything. I think you know what the smart move is right now, Rowena. And you're all about the smart moves, aren't you? So do the right thing here. Tell me."

Oh, she knows this. But that's been her whole existence, once thing after another after another, always just barely surviving, never committing, always alone. This time, she's all the way in, has been for a while now. No going back.

So, Rowena glances up at Chuck and spits out, loud enough so her phone will pick it up. "No contact, as the ultimate fates would have it."

Chuck frowns. "You think speaking in gibberish will stall me?" He asks. Something tears, inside, and Rowena feels something liquid and thick and bitter start to burn in her throat. "Last chance, Rowena. I'm not fucking around. You know what I'm capable of."

Rowena can't help it. She laughs, as much as she possibly can.

To her surprise, he backs away from her and crosses to where her phone lies on the floor. He picks it up, then says abruptly "Say goodbye to the witch, kiddos." He then presses "end call", and allows the phone to fall to the floor.

"It's staring you right in the face," Rowena croaks, looking up, not even attempting to stand up. She can't help it, she can't let it go. "You just have to look at the most basic premise."

Chuck raises an eyebrow. Rowena screams as more pain rips through her.

"And you should've known that," She continues, and blood is misting on her teeth and running down her chin and she knows it's over, but she'll be damned if she doesn't keep going now. "But you don't. And you know why?"

Chuck looks at her. The pressure doesn't decrease, nor does it stop, but his eyes seem to tighten at the corners.

It's enough for Rowena. "It's not even because you're supposed to be all-knowing. It's because you are," She coughs, and she's lightheaded now. "an absolutely _shite _writer."

She hears a roar inside of her head, and she's able to smile before everything fades out and she's overtaken by darkness.

* * *

"_Down_!"

Jack responds immediately, because it's been ingrained in him at this point. He drops, feels something whoosh right over his head. Even though it misses him, he can feel that it was burning hot.

He's dragged to his feet and pushed forward. "_Run!_" He hears, whispered in his ear. It's Billie. "Come on, kiddo. We're nearly out of here. I promise."

So Jack runs. She's told him this for…Adam says it's been decades, but he can't tell anymore, really…and he's stopped believing it's going to happen. But when Billie says to run, he will run. He owes her that much.

He runs through the plains, tongues of fire shooting out at him, trying to pull him into their depths. The shrieking of damned souls echoes throughout the vast environment, and Jack can feel the presence of the demons at his back, who always follow them here. He knows if he looks over his shoulder, he will see nothing there. But he's learned the hard way that they're always there, always watching.

He can see Billie up ahead, hair bouncing around her shoulders. Adam runs in tandem with him, providing support the way that he always does. Billie has said over and over again what a miracle it is that Adam is still alive and mostly sane, that he's been able to hang onto his sense of self here. Jack thinks that that's just how he is. He's just strong that way.

"Look! Up there!"

Jack looks. Ahead, there is a bright white light, looking out of place in darkness of the Hell that they're in. Jack thinks vaguely that he's seen it before, but he cannot remember exactly when.

Billie reaches back, grabs onto his hand tightly. "There it is, kid!" She says, grinning, more excited than Jack has seen her in decades. "That's our way out! Told you we'd get there!"

Jack doesn't really process what she's just said, but he runs faster towards the white light anyway.

"Come on!" Adam eggs him on, shoving at his shoulders, making him stumble faster. "We're almost out! Almost there!"

Adam's face is bright, and a wide smile spreads across his face. Jack nearly falls flat on his face. He's never seen that before, not on Adam.

Billie whoops, and suddenly they've reached the light and it's overpowering. "Think of home, Jack!" She shouts over at him. "Hell responds to you! Get us back!"

As the light takes over Jack, he thinks _this is familiar _but he vanishes before he can contemplate it further.

**Next time**: Heading towards the final confrontation


	9. Another Place

**A/N: **There's going to be a 10-day break between this chapter and the next one. 2 to go! Thanks for all who've stuck with this story up to now.

Chapter 9: Another Place

Sam clutches at his phone. The call has dropped, and the dial tone rings out throughout the room. "No," He whispers, because he knows what he just heard and it's not possible, it's just not.

Dean is pale. "Call back," He says, abrupt in his shock. "Call back now!"

"Dean," Sam says helplessly, dialling back anyway. "I think it's too—"

"Shut up!" Dean says, staring at the phone like if he looks at it hard enough, Rowena will answer. "Just…shut up!"

The phone rings and rings and rings. The call drops again. With shaking hands, Sam calls again. Again, no answer.

"_Shit!_" Dean yells. Sam drops his head and doesn't respond.

"What's going on?" And that's when Cas chooses to walk in, grinding to a halt instantly at the scene in front of him. He's slumped over, carrying the weight of Heaven's cold shoulder, like he always does nowadays. Clearly, no angels have consented to play ball with them. Again. "What's happened?"

Sam takes it upon himself to break the news. "I think…we just listened to God kill Rowena," He says softly. He still can't quite believe it.

Cas' eyes widen. "Impossible," He says sharply. "Sam's supposed to be the one who kills her."

"Yeah, well," Dean says, snapping out of his temporary stupor. "Nothing's happening the way it's fucking 'supposed' to, okay? Clearly nobody know _shit _around here at all."

"What do you mean?" Cas frowns. "What's happened here? What have I missed."

Dean groans. "I'm not going through this again," He says abruptly, rising from his chair and moving towards the door, shouldering Cas out of the way as he goes. "You tell him, Sam. Tell him _everything_."

Cas glares after Dean, rubs at the arm that Dean knocked into. "Are you sure she's dead?" He asks Sam, making his way over to the table and taking Dean's vacated seat. "Is it at all possible that she survived whatever it was?"

Sam shakes his head. "I don't think so. God pretty much told us that she was dead. He knew we were listening. I think that's why he went after her."

Cas frowns. "Yes, but why now? She's been helping us all these months. Why go after her now?"

That's a good question, actually. "I don't know," Sam says, head spinning. "But what I do know is, a friend is dead. Because of us. Again."

"I'm sorry," Cas says, dipping his head. "She didn't deserve it. But I'm sure she knew the risks. We can honor her sacrifice by continuing the work she was doing, and wining the fight. Okay, Sam?"

Sam nods. "Yeah," He says softly. "You're right. Rowena's just somebody else that had to suffer the consequences. No more, from now on."

Cas shoots him a sympathetic look, but says nothing.

Sam lets the silence go by, then clears his throat. "In the name of doing the work that we need to be doing," He says, cautious. "How is it with you and Dean? Working together?"

Cas' sympathy is wiped from his face. "Fine," He says stiffly. "We are managing to get done what needs to get done. There are no obstacles to our goals, nor in our research."

"Good," Sam says, drawing out the word. "But, has anything got better? I know it hasn't exactly been gangbusters with you two recently."

"We have a mutual understanding," Cas prevaricates. "There have been no incidents these past few months."

"I know," Sam pushes. "But—"

"Sam," Cas says, deliberate. "I will stick with you two until the end. I made that clear, and I meant it. You two are my family, and I will always be in your corner. But what happened with Jack, and how Dean reacted to it: that was a limit for me. It's difficult to forgive. I know that situation you were put in, and I know Mary's death hit both of you hard, but Jack was not responsible for—"

"I know, Cas," Sam interrupts him. "I agree with you on this. I've been there too, with the soullessness, remember? It took me a really long time to work through that, and I know now that that wasn't me. And so it wasn't really Jack either. And I want to get him back too. We can only do that if we get God where we want him, right? So all this, it's for Jack too."

Cas nods, relaxing slightly. "Yes," He says, contrite. "Yes, sorry. I shouldn't have forgotten your own experience. It's good to know you have Jack's back, though. I appreciate it."

Sam gives him a small smile. "I know. It's just…I get it. I understand how complicated all this is. But, we all need to come together, you know? Especially with the stakes being so high on this one. Who knows if we'll even get to reunite at all, after all this is over? You know what I mean?"

Cas adopts a serious expression. "I think so," He says slowly. "And I understand where you're coming from. I'll try to have a talk with Dean before we leave. Speaking of which," He leans forward. "What was Dean talking about? What did he want you to tell me?"

Sam sighs. "Yeah, um. Okay. I'll start from the beginning, then."

* * *

By the time Dean storms back, Sam has filled Cas in on his theory. As he had anticipated, Cas takes it much worse than Dean.

"That is impossible," He says flatly, ignoring Dean's ostentatious return to the room. "I was there for most of the time the angels were preparing for your existence. I saw generations of your family come together, all with the end goal of producing you two to be the vessels of the Apocalypse. There is not a chance that you are not Lucifer's vessel. It is simply not possible."

Sam shrugs. "Tell me this, then," He says, matter-of-fact. "Why didn't the Apocalypse actually end up happening?"

Cas blinks. Dean is standing at the back of the room, not making a sound, watching their conversation. "Well," Cas says, bemused. "Free will. You broke Lucifer's hold. You chose to save the universe. We pushed Lucifer back into the cage. It went wrong, basically."

"Exactly," Sam says, vindicated. "And if all that time was taken to prepare me for this, if I was the vessel that was supposed to be produced to hold him, why was I able to break his hold at all? How were we able to stop something that had been predicted, that had been anticipated for as long as the universe as existed? No matter how strong my free will was, there is no way it should have been enough to override Lucifer, especially if I was built just for him. Am I right?"

Cas frowns. "Where is this coming from, all of a sudden?" He asks. "It's been almost a decade since this has happened. Why do you believe this now? Is this because…" And here, he seems to tale careful stock of his words. "Rowena suggested it? Because, you know, the best way we can honor her work is doing this correctly. Not by blindly following what she tells you."

"I know that's how it sounds," Sam insists, "But it actually confirms something I've been thinking for a long time. It never really made sense to me, how I was meant for something like that, but it never actually happened. That both Dean and I were meant to be vessels of at least equal power, but I had all these powers and all this preparation, and Dean didn't. That never really clicked with me, you know? And we know better now than to believe something just because the angels tell us its true. And I'm just now finally including this fact. That's all, really."

Cas covers his mouth with his hand, looking tired. Sam knows that, after centuries of angel brainwashing and manipulation, that it remains difficult for him to believe that they could get things like this wrong. But he's trying, and Sam does appreciate that.

"I have to tell you Sam," Cas finally says. "I don't really buy this. I know that you have a valid reason to distrust prophecy, and fate, and the divine word. But I don't know if you have much of a leg to stand on for this one. Nor do I think it would be something that we could use adequately in the coming fight. I would support practicing on your powers to give us an advantage, but I do not know how this would be helpful or relevant at the moment."

Sam shrugs, a little stung. "I get it," He says, a little stiffly. "Maybe think about it, though? I think it could have an impact here, especially if this means that Dean is the only viable vessel."

Cas nods in assent. "That's fine. I will do that."

Dean takes advantage of the natural pause in the conversation, marching into the middle of the room. "Okay, so, what's next, then? Do we confirm Rowena is gone, or what?"

"I don't think we need to, Dean."

"And Cas was right, weren't you supposed to be the one that kills her? And she has that…pouch thingy, right? The one that brings her back to life?" Dean points at him, like he's just come up with something revolutionary. "Maybe she won't stay dead?"

Sam keeps his gaze down on the table. "It's God, man. I'm sure he can, like, overcome any resurrection spells she's put on herself," And it suddenly hits him again: they're alone now. Rowena's gone. "Shit. Shit. God, Rowena…"

"I know man, I know. But you gotta pull it together. The only way we win is we carry on is get this son of a bitch. So: what's next? What's the game plan, here?"

"Okay," Sam says, trying to pull himself out of his funk. _Get back in the game_. "I think she left us a message. I'd told her this code, just in case, you know, we needed to talk in secret. And to crack it we just have to take every other word of the sentence and that's the message. That one sentence she said was kinda weird, don't you think?"

"Yeah, I know the one you're talking about. So decoding that would be…" Dean, frowns, mouths the words as he adjusts the sentence. "'Contact the fates have'? What's that supposed to mean?"

Sam shrugs. "I think we just take out the have, she probably strung that together last second and didn't want to make Him suspicious. But, yeah. Looks like it's 'contact the fates'."

"So we have to contact the fates? What the hell? Where did that come from? How are we even supposed to do that?"

"Well, you've already met one," Cas interjects. "Remember? Nine years ago?"

"Huh?" Dean stares at him. "Wait, from the Titanic thing? Balthazar's thing against Celine Dion?" He scoffs suddenly, nudging Sam. "Man, sure you really hated that one, huh?"

Sam glares at him, choosing not to comment. "Look, Rowena was dying and made sure that we heard that information. She spent her last moments saying that loud enough for us to get that message. I'm going to start to look into this. And we proceed as we had originally planned. Okay?"

"Fine. Okay, just, don't let this throw a wrench in what we already have to do. Top priority: finding a way to get God into the Empty, most likely by possessing one of us. Everything else: the fates, your powers, whether or not you're Lucifer's vessel, is secondary."

Sam nods quickly. "Speaking of," He says, directing the conversation to something he'd been wanting to bring up for a while now. "In terms of who gets to offer themselves up for possession—"

"Yeah," Dean interrupts, crossing his arms. "Well, you sure helped me make my case for this one. If what you're thinking is right, then it should be me. You shot yourself in the foot there, buddy."

"But—"

"Nope," Dean says, an admonishing tone in his voice. "You want us to take your theories seriously? Fine. But this is part of it. You don't get to pick and choose when you're right or not, so I don't even want to hear it. Got it, Sam?"

Sam stays stubbornly silent.

"Sam?" Dean repeats, a clear note of warning in his voice.

"Fine," Sam mutters. _This is going to be a long couple of days_.

* * *

Today's the day.

Sam is stressed, harried. He hasn't slept in a couple of days, not from the time Rowena was killed while on a phone call with them. Probably not the greatest idea—they'll need to be in the best shape that they can—but he can't help it. He had to do the most that he could possibly do to get everyone out of this safe.

And it's all led to this: Sam, staring into his laptop at five AM, Dean, sleeping over a stack of books, and Cas, in one of the rooms somewhere, clearly exhausted. They sure look like people who are ready to save the world. Again.

Sam blinks into the light of his laptop screen. He's pretty sure he's been able to find a way to summon the fates, although what the hell they're supposed to do after that, he doesn't know. Nor does he know when they're supposed to do this, or where. They're going to have to talk about that, hopefully something will pull together before they have to drive off to the graveyard. That's how their plans usually go, anyway.

To be honest, he could've gone off to sleep a couple hours ago. Instead, he's been staring at his laptop, not to read or research anything, but trying to use his powers to make it move, or teleport, or do anything to signify that he at least had some level of control of his abilities. So far, no dice. He's tried multiple times over the past couple days, and all he's gotten out of it is lots of pressure in his head and, as a consequence, multiple migraines. He thinks at this point, he should probably throw in the towel. They just don't have enough time for any abilities of his to be useful. Maybe, if they survive, he'll be able to figure this out. But this has to come first.

Speaking of…

"Wake up," Sam says, nudging Dean, who is slumped over the war room table, snoring softly. "Dude, come on. I think I have something, here. About the fates."

Dean makes an unintelligible noise, lifting his head up from his stack of books. "Go 'way," He groans, hugging the books under his arms more tightly. "Leave me 'lone."

Sam shoves him harder. "C'mon, dude. Apocalypse stuff. Kind of important."

Dean gives a small snort, then sits up. "I'm 'wake," He says blearily. "What is it?'

"I'm getting Cas," Sam says in response, dashing out. "Just try not to fall back asleep."

After waking Cas—which was much easier than waking his brother up, and he was up and ready to go at a moment's notice—they return to the library area and are greeted with Dean's grumpy face.

"It's _five in the morning_, Sam," Dean says, indignant, and Sam quickly interrupts him.

"Yeah, I know, but I've figured out how to summon the fates. I figured that we should use some time before we leave to decide when to do it."

"Right," Cas says, eyebrows coming together, clearly thinking hard. "Is the summoning ritual complicated?"

"Weirdly enough, not really," Sam says, digging out the notes on the ritual that he'd compiled earlier. "We've got all the ingredients, and the complicated part would've been drawing the symbols but thankfully we actually have a whole bunch of them pre-made…"

Dean blinks. "Wait, what? How am I just hearing about that?"

Sam shrugs. "The men of letters actually made a whole bunch of, like, pre-drawn symbols for ritual stuff. I found a whole bunch like, two months ago in storage."

Dean whistles softly. "Damn, they really were fuckin' boy scouts. And also," He frowns. "You find something like that, dude, tell me! Don't just drop it on me randomly months later."

Sam makes to respond, but Cas cuts him off before they can get into it. "Getting back to your initial concern, Sam," He says deliberately. "I would suggest doing the summoning as soon as possible so it does not cut into our time for preparing our conflict with God. So, perhaps, soon?"

"Wait, you want us to do this now? Why?" Dean asks, perplexed.

Cas shrugs. "I have already voiced my concerns about doing this at all," He says. "So I would suggest doing it now and seeing what Rowena may have been trying to tell us, and if it is not productive, we can carry on with an adequate amount of time left to finalize our plans."

"That's fair," Sam says, spreading out the list of ingredients, looking through them. "Do you want me to set this up? I'll be able to get it done, in, like, half an hour."

"Yes do it," Cas encourages, and Dean slumps back onto the table.

"You guys do that," He says, voice muffled. "I'm going to go back to sleep. Wake me up when you're done."

* * *

Thirty (well, closer to forty) minutes later, Sam is leaning over a bowl, nose wrinkling as he tries to ignore the rotten smell emanating from it. Much of what was needed were smelly weeds and plants and being mixed together really didn't do it any favours.

Trying to ignore all that, Sam lifts up the bowl and sets it atop a variation of a Devil's Trap. Cas had expressed concern about that, not without cause in Sam's opinion, that the fates aren't connected to demonic powers and a Devil's Trap didn't seem to have anything to do with them.

This is all they have, though. The lore wasn't very keen on finding ways on actually summoning the fates—any human interactions with them do _not _tend to go well, to put it mildly—and so was largely void of any help in doing that. Sam had only found one, tucked away in the back of a source in Ancient Greek, that included it with a strict warning that it was only for informational purposes. Anyone who tried to get them to change the future would be met with swift retribution, according to the text.

Informational works, Sam thinks. He can do with informational.

He examines the bowl's contents and the symbol once more, then looks up at Cas. "I think it's ready," He says, tentative. "We can start now, if you want."

Cas nods, then reaches down and shoves at Dean, who really actually had gone back to sleep. "Wake up. We are about to summon the fates."

Dean shoots up immediately. His response is much quicker this time. "I'm awake."

"Good," Cas says, gesturing to Sam. "Then you can begin."

Sam shoots them both a thin smile and looks down at the incantation. It's fairly simple, and he's able to vocalize it without any issues. His pronunciation is probably pretty bad, though, and he thinks distantly that maybe he should've asked Cas to do this part.

Oh, well. Not much for it now.

Sam's voice trails off as the incantation comes to a close. The concoction in the bowl, and the symbol around it, glow a quick flash of green, and then go back to normal. Sam flinches automatically and then looks around, expecting something to happen.

Nothing does.

Seconds pass, and the tension in the room grows. Dean starts tapping his foot, betraying his anxiety. Cas goes bedrock-still.

Sam clears his throat. "Hello?" He asks, feeling a little stupid. "Is there anyone here?"

Nothing.

Dean frowns. "Did it work?"

"Something happened," Cas retorts, staring at the bowl like he expects something to jump out of it at any second. "But I'm not sure…I'm not sure if it was what we were anticipating."

Sam's blood runs cold. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing in particular," Cas says, still staring at the bowl. "Only that something has happened, but the fates are clearly not here. I can't see that anything else has happened, though."

Sam frowns and pulls out his phone. "Let me try to re-read this, maybe with some different pronunciations. I have a guide on here that can—"

Before he can continue, there's a burst of bright white light and they are all tossed back. Sam goes over the table and takes a header to the floor, stars instantly flooding his vision. _I did not need another headache today_, he thinks, trying to stumble back onto his feet. His phone is still tightly clutched in his hand, _Ow._

He hears the distant sound of voices, and falls back down again mid-crouch. _Dammit_. He reaches up, feels around for table, and braces himself on it, using the sturdiness of the hard surface to lever himself upwards. Still vertigo-laden, he lifts his head up. Cas is braced against a column, looking stunned, and Dean is draped over a chair, still struggling to stand himself.

However, this is not the sight that Sam is paying attention to.

Instead, he is staring at the three figures in the middle of the room, backlit by the blinding white light that is slowly dimming (which Sam is thankful for—the light was murder on his already-aching head). _This is it_, Sam thinks woozily. _Here they are. I was right. I knew my pronunciation was correct, I knew it_.

The light is now dimming, and the figures are starting to look more recognizable. From this perspective, only one of them looks feminine, huh, Sam had sort of assumed all of them were women, would that be considered sexist of him? When their faces start to be discernible, he might be able to recognize Atropos—

_Oh_.

_Oh my God_.

They…they are _not_ the fates. They're…they're…

Sam thinks for a second he's hit his head a little too hard. First, that's Billie, that's definitely Billie, which, if he isn't seeing things, is actually wonderful news because he's pretty sure she would be on their side, because God looks like he's going on some sort of rampage and she would _not _like that…

And then his brain starts stuttering because that's _Jack _and he's _here _and he looks like himself, not blank or emotionless or out of control, his eyes are wide and teary and he's looking around the Bunker like he can't quite believe what he's seeing, Sam can relate, he can't quite believe what he's seeing either.

And then…

And then.

Sam locks eyes with the third man and he feels it like a kick to the chest. All the breath _wooshes_ right out of his body and it's all he can do not to slide back onto the floor.

The man (_AdamogmygodAdamAdamAdam_) stares right back at him. His face is contorted into a look of complete surprise, but also of…a blankness, of sorts. It's almost like he's looking at him as some sort of puzzle to be solved, rather than as someone that he knows.

A quick, choked-off gasp directs Sam's attention back towards Dean, who has by now gotten to his feet as well. His eyes seemed to have skipped past Billie and Jack and landed squarely on Adam.

Adam's gaze also tracks to Dean, and he gazes at him for several seconds. "Hey Dean," Adam smiles, glancing back to his right. "Sam."

The words break the silence, and suddenly, everything moves fast again "…Adam?" Sam drops the phone. He hears the screen crack, shatter, and thinks _well, there goes my efforts at keeping it in one shape_. He doesn't care, though, because this…this is much bigger.

"Yes!" Jack says, animated, looking around the room as if he's trying to see everyone's face as quickly as possible. "Yes, that's Adam! Do you know him?" He turns to Adam. "Do you know them?"

"I do," Adam says, continuing to stare. "They're my brothers, actually. At least, I think I remember they are. You _are_ my brothers, right?"

"Yes," Dean chokes out, not taking his eyes off Adam. "Yes, we are. Yes."

Adam smiles vaguely again, and nods. 'I thought so," He says. "I remembered your names, too. I'm getting better at that."

Jack's eyes are wide, "Your _brothers_?" He asks, incredulous, turning to Billie. "Did you know this whole time?"

"Yeah," Billie says. "I thought it would be…awkward if I brought it up. So, you know, sorry. But, hey! We're out of hell! And Adam's not possessed by Michael anymore, somehow! Welcome back to the real world. Now I can finally go do my damn job."

She steps out of the group and tosses them a mocking wave with two of her fingers. "Hey, Winchesters and Co," Billie greets her shocked audience. "I'll be heading out now, I'll leave Jack here to explain everything. He's fully himself now, so take it easy on him. Meanwhile, I have a God to deal with. Ciao."

With another wave, she vanishes.

There's no time to talk, to _move_, before Cas leaps forward and pulls Jack into a hug. "_Jack_," He breathes out, stunned. "You're alive. You're here. You're alive. Oh my God."

Jack, after a millisecond of pause, responds in kind. With a barely-hidden sob, he throws his arms around Cas and holds tight. "Yeah," He says, voice muffled in Cas's shoulder. "I'm here. I'm back."

Suddenly, Jack stiffens up. He pushes away from Cas, who lets go hesitantly. Jack seems to throw back his shoulders, and turns towards Sam and Dean instead.

"We were in Hell," He begins, mechanical, like a soldier. "Billie in I met in the Empty, and she used my blood connection as Lucifer to allow us to both escape there. We met Adam wandering in there, and we fought our way through until we found a doorway out. It's been…years. Lots of years. Decades."

Sam feels his heart pinch at that. Jack should never have had to experience Hell. Never.

Dean looks unmoved. He's still riveted on Adam. "You were in Hell?"

Adam cocks his head to the side. "I guess I was," He says, thoughtful. "I don't remember getting there, I was…always there. I belonged there."

"You don't," Dean shakes his head. Sam knows his brother, knows how much he wants to step forward and grab Adam's shoulders. But he stays right where he is. "You were dragged into this, into Hell. You belong here, and in Heaven when you die. You should never have been in Hell, and you should never have had to suffer through the Cage."

Adam shrugs. Sam feels a shiver go through him at how…nonchalant Adam is being. Hell has broken him into so many pieces he barely looks like the kid that Sam remembers. "I don't know about _suffering_," He says, thoughtful. "It was…wandering. Lots of wandering. And I don't know what the Cage is, but I don't think I was in it. Or, if I was, it wasn't for long."

Sam shuts his eyes. He's grateful for that, if nothing else.

Dean, not one to give up on family easily, persists. "I know it probably feels like it was normal. But what you experienced down there wasn't normal. Both of us," Dean points towards Sam's general direction. "Know that. And we can talk to you about it, later. When we can. But, you should know. You didn't deserve the pain."

"You don't believe me," Adam says, still sounding detached, quiet. "But if I know one thing, it's this: I wandered. That is all I did. I don't think your experience of Hell and mine were very similar at all."

That…that seems like it should be significant. Like Adam's trying to tell them something. As much as Sam wants to listen, he knows he can't. For now, they have to focus on their objectives, and if they win (when they win) they can talk to Adam properly.

Jack, who has been standing there silently watching the exchange, steps forward. Dean tenses, and shoots his gaze over at him for the first time since he's arrived.

"I'm sorry," Jack tells them softly. He looks shattered, but he's making eye contact with them, one by one. He's not backing down, not backing away. "There's no excuse, no way to fix what I've done to you both. And to Mary. I know there's nothing I can say, either, but I want you to know that I'm sorry and that I'll accept anything you want to do to me. I deserve it."

Sam feels like he's been punched in the gut. He's really going through the most brutal metaphorical beatdown today.

Enough is enough. This constant series of taking the blame, of passing around their shared guilt like a well-worn favorite book, it has to stop. They need to start actually applying the lessons that they learn, that's been forced down their throats throughout the years, or they'll keep making the same mistakes that always inevitably lead them to this point. This ends now.

Sam gestures towards Jack, who acquiesces and walks towards him with the solemn gravitas of a man walking to his own execution. Sam ignores that comparison, shoves it to the back of his mind, and lays his hands on Jack's shoulders.

"I forgive you," He says, and something in Jack's face collapses, ruptures. "But I want to make it clear that I'm only saying that because I know you need to hear it. I don't blame you at all. You were soulless, you weren't capable of making your own decisions, and I know better than anyone that you can't carry around the weight of doing things that weren't fully in your power. It'll consume you. So," Sam says, taking a deep breath. "I forgive you, even if it wasn't your fault."

Jack makes an aborted movement with his arms and Sam, reading his intent, reaches over and pulls him into his own arms. "We missed you," He murmurs into his hair. Jack begins to shudder slightly with small sobs, and he sees Cas give him an approving nod over Jack's left shoulder. This convinces Sam more than anything that he's done the right thing.

And then he looks over at Dean. He's staring at them, brows furrowed tightly. Sam can't read him, and this worries him. He pats Jack's shoulder and lets him go, trying to convey significant looks at Dean: _don't make a scene please forgive him it's not the kid's fault_. He doesn't know if it comes through, but Dean is usually pretty good at picking up on his nonverbal cues.

Dean looks at Jack, opens his mouth, then shuts it again. He seems to struggle with something (his hands fidget but Sam notices he keeps them as far away from the gun at his hip as possible, staying nonthreatening). Sam remembers the last time they came face to face and hopes with everything he has that Jack isn't thinking the same thing. Near him, Cas visibly tenses up.

Dean locks eyes with Sam for a second, and then Sam knows. Even after all this time, he can still get through to his brother.

"That was a pretty good speech, kid," Dean says, a funny, choked tone to his voice. "How long did it take you to come up with it?"

Jack hiccups, tears coming down in earnest now. "I had forty or so years to think it up. It better have been good."

That sure wipes the burgeoning smile off Dean's face pretty quick.

"Forty years?" He asks, almost in a snarl. "You were down there for forty years?"

Jack shrinks back, misunderstanding the target of Dean's anger. "I…I think so. Time is weird down there."

"Dammit," Dean shuts his eyes and then opens them, pained. "Yeah, I know. You shouldn't have had to deal with that either. Nobody deserves that."

He sighs deeply, then straightens his posture and drops his shoulders. He's shifting into hunting mode. "Okay, guys. It's a long story, but basically, we're fighting God now."

Jack's mouth drops open. "You're _what_?"

"Yeah, like I said, it's a whole thing, but in our defence he was cool with it," Dean replies. "And really, things need to change. None of us have been treated well by him so far, and we need to do something about that. I guess the question is, right now, are you going to help? We'd stick around and catch up and shit, but our deadline is today. So, are you in?"

"Yes!" Jack says instantly, enthusiastically. Cas shakes his head and opens his mouth to respond, but Jack beats him to it.

"I _will_," He insists, looking Cas dead in the eye. "He killed me. I'm part of this too, and I am not going to leave you alone to fight him. I'm coming and you can't do anything to stop me."

Cas nods. "I won't take the choice away from you," He says, sincere.

Adam shrugs. "You're family," He says, eyeing them neutrally. "And that means something. At least, I'm pretty sure it does. So, I'll help too, I guess. I have a feeling there's nothing left for me here, anyway."

Sam looks at them, their new rag-tag team, and feels new stirrings of hope. It scares him, but he's not going to let that show. "Okay," He says, trying to shove the feeling away, to distract himself from feeling anything at all. "We'll get you up to speed. Billie'll probably help us out too, once the reapers tell her what's been going on. In the meantime, we'll get you some weapons, teach you how to use 'em. And, Adam," He gestures towards him. "We might be asking a lot from you. Again."

Adam inclines his head in acknowledgement. Jack nods, solemn. And their army is complete.

Cas, seemingly, has not fully gotten his fill of Jack's reappearance. He moves towards him, pulling him into yet another hug.

"Jack," Cas smiles, releasing Jack and cupping his cheek. "You don't know how happy you've made me, I can't believe you're—"

And then Jack is smiling at nothing, and Cas is gone.

No warning, no sound, no bright white light, no nothing. He's just gone.

Jack's smile slides off his face instantly. "Cas?" He asks into the empty space in front of him.

He looks to Sam, bewildered. "Where'd he go?"

"I…I don't know," Sam says, blinking. His brain's not caught up with what he's seen just yet. "He wouldn't…he wouldn't just teleport out of here. I'm not sure what just…"

He sees Jack's eyes dart around, his mind looking like its moving at a mile a minutes.

"No! No no no no…"

Sam approaches him. "Jack?"

"He said he was _happy_. He said…no. Oh no."

"Why would that matter?" Dean says from behind Sam's shoulder. "Jack, do you know what just happened?"

Jack is shaking his head, seemingly at a loss for words. "He…He said…when the Empty…"

"The _Empty_?" Sam asks. "What's the Empty got to do with this?"

"It's how we got out," Jack says, helplessly blank, "The first time I died and was sent to Heaven, the Empty wanted me and it attacked us. Cas made a deal with it, that the Empty would take him when he became truly happy and he said…he just said now…"

Sam's blood turns to ice. "He didn't tell us," He informs Jack, feeling the brunt of what just happened travelling down inside his gut. "We didn't know about this."

Jack nods sorrowfully. "He didn't want you to know," He tells Sam, and tears finally start to form in his eyes. "He told me not to tell you. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"It's _not _your fault," Sam says, distant but firm. Shit, with everything else the kid has on his shoulders, he shouldn't have to feel guilty for this one too. "It's…it was Cas's decision. But…it's okay. It'll _be _okay. I promise. We'll get him back. It's in our plan. We'll do it, I promise."

"We're getting him back," Dean repeats, striding towards the door. Something has changed within him, now. He doesn't look defeated, or lost, or detached in the way he's been for the past four months now. This is a Dean who's found his focus again, and nothing will give Sam more hope than that. "Call Violet, Sam. We'll explain the plan to you two on the way. Let's go and get this son of a bitch."

* * *

God's there, waiting for them.

They're back in the graveyard. God is just sitting there, on a bench that Dean is pretty sure wasn't there before. He's leaning back against the bench seat in an extremely casual pose: arm stretched across other back, one leg crossed over the other. He clearly knows the second that they arrived in the graveyard, but he play-acts as if he's only just seen them.

"Well, hello," He says, tightening his pose and levering himself onto his feet. He still looks deceptively casual. "I though you guys weren't coming. Tsk tsk. You're late."

Dean grinds his teeth. "It's the middle of the day," He spits out. "We made it in time for your deadline."

"I thought it was implied that you guys should be here by morning. But no matter," He looks around at them, examining each member of their group. "What's this?" He asks, mouth pulling into a smile. "Looks like you've brought the whole crew! Jack, nice to see you again. Unexpected, but hey, still good to have you here!"

Jack, in a move reminiscent of the time after his birth, takes his cues from Dean's tone and bearing. "It's not nice to see _you_," He responds, which, okay, Dean would've been slightly less polite with that one. "You killed me."

"Aw, you still upset about that? You're all better now, it's in the past! I have noticed, though," And here God's grin grows wider "That we're missing Castiel. Where's he vanished off to?"

The silence is tense. Dean feels a muscle tic in his jaw, but he vows he won't react, won't give God the satisfaction.

"Oh, right," God says, smile widening. "He's gone, isn't he? His deal finally managed to catch up to him, I see! Is that because Jack here came back?"

"Don't dick around," Dean snaps. "You know what happened. You were probably watching the whole fucking time."

"I wasn't, actually," God says, casually sauntering towards them. "But I am pretty good at deductive reasoning. And Jack's here, but Cas isn't. It's not the hardest leap to make." He points to Adam, changing the subject of the conversation. "How'd you finagle _this _one, boys? This kid was supposed to be stuck in hell for eternity. There's no way you would've been able to find him."

"Billie," Jack begins, but God interrupts him before he can continue.

"Oh, you can stop right there," God says, grin taking a predatory shade now. "She's been meddling in all of my plans for a while now. After we're done here, I'm going to pay her a visit and suggest she—hmm— 'retire' as Death, effective immediately. I won't suggest a stint in the Empty this time, either. Oh, no. I think she should probably be scrubbed from the universe entirely. Nobody will remember her. That'll show her pretty effectively, don't you think?"

He claps his hands together once, then comes to a stop right in front of them. "Well, then. Enough of that bureaucratic stuff. Shall we begin?"

Dean glances over at Sam, makes eye contact. _I'm doing it_, he thinks, trying to communicate that with a nod. Sam frowns back, inclines his head slightly. Dean decides to take that as _You can do what you want, but for the record, I don't like it_.

Well, tough.

"Yeah," Dean answers, turning to God. "We have a…proposition to make."

God folds his arms, amusement still on his face. "Fascinating. I'm listening."

Dean takes a deep breath. Then two. _You can do this. You have to do this_. 'Well, we were thinking that it really isn't very even when you're fighting us with the power of the universe on your side, you know, as it would be. So, we're proposing you get a bit of a…handicap."

God's amusement visibly grows. "Oh? What kind of handicap?"

"Possess me," Dean says and that's it, no going back now. "And we get an advantage because you'll be fighting both me internally and them externally. And, if you win, you get to keep my body for possession. And, not to toot my own horn, but you would only _be _so lucky to get a physique like mine. So, win/win for the both of us. What do you say?"

Dean sees Sam tense up out of the corner of his eye. This part of the plan is essential: if God possesses him, Violet can whisk them all off to the Empty (with Billie's help, hopefully) and neutralize him within it. Only, Cas is already going to be there, and he might not even be awake, and that's a wrench in the plan because not only is he a great friend, but he is also one of their most valuable allies. Dean can admit both of these facts to himself, now.

He can swear he sees God's eyes sparkling with mirth. "You think so? How about if I'm in your head and I'll be able to access all your plans and information? What do you do with that, huh?"

Dean grins, feral. "You'll have to get into my head first."

God lets out a laugh. The sounds peals across the empty space, echoes across the graves. "You guys really are something," He says, and the amusement warps to…affection? "I gotta say, I didn't expect that one. And I know you, I know you _very _well."

"I'm glad you approve," Dean says, fear licking at his insides. God is not meant to be so casual about this, like he's not taking them seriously at all. "So, do you accept? Are we doing this?"

He hears Sam suck in a breath. He holds a hand out. _Don't stop me. We agreed. I'm doing this_.

God laughs again, but it's less tolerant now, more smug. "Hmm. Well, as much as I want to hop in and root around in that little noggin of yours, I'm going to have to decline your generous offer."

Dean swears he can hear the blood pounding around in his ears. He'd thought he would be scared if God accepted his challenge. This, though? This is way worse. "You sure?" He asks, trying to affect nonchalance. He doesn't think it's working very well. "This is a one-time deal, you know. You aren't gonna get another chance."

"That's where you're wrong," God says, and his smug tone starts to bleed into irritation. "I think you'll find that I can do anything I want, actually. I can inhabit anyone I please, change into anything that I would like. Your offer holds absolutely no appeal to me. What else you got?"

"You can't," And it seems that Sam has found his voice, and he sounds furious. "The deal was that you would go along with the research that we conducted so that we could fight on fairer grounds. You're reneging on the deal."

"Nice to hear from you Sam," God says, condescendingly sweet. "And I think you'll find that that wasn't exactly what I said I'd do. All that was specified was that you would have time to research, and that I would stay away. I never said that I would be obligated to follow whatever whackadoo plan you came up with. So. Ball's in your court, now. What'll it be?"

"You're a terrible person," And now it's Jack, and he looks angry, and strangely disappointed. "You don't deserve what you have."

God twitches his head in acknowledgement, but Dean notices that he makes sure not to look directly at Jack, avoiding his general direction like he's an eclipse or something. "Ouch," He says, holding a hand to his chest in a kind of faux-hurt. "Cruel words there, kiddo. And here I thought we were family."

"You killed me!" Jack says, indignant

"Oh, get over it," God responds. "It's what we do in this family, it's how we express affection. And you gotta admit, you were getting a little out of control, there. You should be thanking me."

That seems to hit Jack right where it hurts. Cowed, he steps back, posture bowing, bucking under God's cruel reminders of his past actions.

Dean glares at the reminder. His own difficulty in reconciling soulless Jack with normal Jack feels like it's been thrown in his face.

"That's not what we're talking about," Sam interjects, stepping forward and subtly shifting to the side to shield Jack. "What we do need to discuss, though, is your inability to hold to a promise. If you don't want to take Dean, I'm more than happy to volunteer, instead. If, you know, the height is the problem."

_Son of a __**bitch**_. Dean shoots a searing look at Sam, both for stepping up and for the crack at his height.

"Sweet of you," God says. "I'm not really in the market for a new body, like, at all. Not from Dean, not from you, not from Winchester #3, not even from Mr. Special Nephilim over there. Sorry, boys, but you'll have to switch to your plan B for this one. Quit trying this route."

They're _fucked_. Their plan B was Cas' throwing himself on the sword and trapping everyone in his vicinity in the Empty, which is obviously not in the cards for them anymore. Maybe, if Violet is hiding somewhere in the wings like she said she would be, they can salvage something out of this. They'll just have to find a way to talk to her.

Dean glances around, decides to try to stall for as long as possible. "Why are you doing this?" He asks, _Sam go along with this please_. "What do you have to prove? You're _God_. You really have the time to play these games?"

"I got nothing but time," God replies, smiling indulgently. "And I've already told you, this is my favorite story. I'm willing to put in a little time and effort to make sure that it ends in a satisfactory way. So, you know, I'm running out of patience. What's your play? If you don't end this soon, then I will."

Dean gives Sam a significant stare. Sam looks back, eyebrows raised, then shrugs. He looks back at God and opens his mouth, and _good going Sammy please talk us out of this because I am shit out of ideas _and _Violet where the fuck are you_?

And suddenly, there's a quick flash of green light. It's so subtle that Dean thinks he must have imagined it at first. A new voice echoes across the graveyard, and Dean can't place anything about it: age, gender, _being_, it sounds otherworldly. "All right, that's enough. Let's take this somewhere more neutral, shall we?"

There's another flash of green light, less subtle this time, and Dean's world dissolves into nothingness.

**Next time**: The endgame is laid out. One character has to make a decision that will change everything.


	10. Those Nights

**Note: **I'm back, and we've reached the penultimate chapter! Quite a lot gets revealed, here. I hope you guys enjoy it before we go on to the end!

Chapter 10: Those Nights

The first thing Sam hears is a soft "Not _again_," from Jack to his right which is, honestly, pretty damn funny. He'll take what he can get at this point.

Having an idea of where he is (_emptiness darkness blackness nothing nothing nothing nothing_), he leans over to Jack and whispers "The Empty?"

Jack closes his eyes. "Yes," He mouths, despondent, "I'm back here, again."

Sam nods and looks around. He can understand why Jack is so despondent: he's never seen a nothingness so…complete, so final, as this one. Even the Cage had always had something there, with all the pain and the torture and the suffering, it had always been…tangible. Real. Believable.

Here, Sam's barely been around for a few minutes, but the reality of his existence is already in doubt. To be in the presence of such a palpable void is flirting with unreality, and Sam doesn't know how much of this he can handle. He prays that he can hold on to his sanity long enough to make it through this, whatever _this _is going to be.

He hears a whispered, almost reverent _shit _to his right, and he sees Dean staring off beyond his shoulder, wide-eyed.

"How the _fuck _did we get here?" Dean whispers, like if he speaks any louder he'll wake up whatever is waiting for them in the darkness. "Violet?"

Sam shrugs, eyes tracking outwards. Adam is there, largely unruffled, looking around the Empty with a vague sort of curiosity. The sight tears at Sam heart a little: the kid's sense of reality has been so warped by his time in Hell that he clearly isn't capable of discerning the quotidian from the disturbing.

God is here, too, and he most certainly does not look pleased to be here either. He's scowling, looking around, face slowly starting to redden with what Sam thinks is pure, divine rage. In a way, it makes him feel better that God doesn't want to be here either, not does it seem like he was the one who brought them here. At least they can all be miserable here together.

_Hell, maybe __**I'm **__the one who zapped us here_, Sam thinks, half hysterical. _That sure would be the topping of the shit sandwich that is our situation_.

"Sorry about that," He hears, and he jumps at the unexpected intrusion into the void. Within the circle of people that they've formed are three women: one blonde, one brunette, and one black-haired woman. They look so normal, so out of place, that Sam temporarily thinks he's hallucinating them. "We had to yank you in here before anything big went down. I'd understand if you needed a moment to regain your bearings."

He hears a snarl, a terrible, angry sound. God's face has transformed from fury to an almost unimaginable wrath. Sam's stomach goes cold at the sight, and he makes sure to look away quickly.

Amazingly, the women seem to not be fazed to have incurred the anger of the most powerful being in the universe. They ignore him entirely, and the blonde woman steps forward, standing slightly ahead of the other two and forming a triangle that points towards their direction.

"You've met me before," She says, gesturing towards Sam and Dean. "Don't you remember? It's been, hm, maybe nine years now? Time flies, doesn't it?"

Sam stares at her. There is a tickle of familiarity there, but he can't quite place…

And _there _it is.

"Atropos, right?" Sam says, pointing at her, confident. "One of the three fates!"

"Yes," She says, nodding shortly. "I'm sorry we didn't answer your call earlier. We heard it, but we chose not to show up. We will explain shortly."

"Oh, hey!" Dean grins. "Titanic lady! How's it going?"

Sam glares, but chooses to ignore him. "So I'm guessing you two," He points to the brunette and the black-haired woman. "Are Clotho and Lachesis?"

The brunette woman nods. "Clotho," She introduces herself brusquely. "And we need to get going with this. Lachesis?"

The black-haired woman steps forward. "Yes. Let us go forward."

"Is Cas here?" Jack demands, visibly wrestling his fear back into his body. Sam, inexplicably, feels very proud of him. "Where did he go?"

Atropos looks at him blankly. "He belongs to the Empty now," She says, disregarding his concern. "We cannot be involved, especially since we were given permission to use this space as a grounds for mediation. You can thank Death for that, by the way. She sends her greetings. And she says she is eagerly awaiting the outcome of the purpose that we've brought you all here for."

"And what would _that _be?" God asks, and his tone makes it clear that he thinks he is well aware of what it is. "Why are you risking the fabric of the universe in this way? Return me to the world immediately."

Atropos ignores him and instead turns to her two sisters. "Well, it's that time again," She says to them. "We've got to go through another round of the cycle. Your time is over now."

"It is not," God responds. "And I have the authority to make it so. Leave."

"It's our job," She replies. "You know that we cannot. And you know that your time is over now. You must pass it on and keep the universe alive."

Sam can't take it anymore. "_What _is going on?" He asks, bewildered. "What's the cycle? And what do we have to do with it?"

"Ah," And she looks at him, and her expression is sympathetic, but also…something else. Something Sam can't identify. "Well, to put it simply, you were on the right path about this. Your plan to take on the Lord was based on some pretty accurate reasoning."

Sam blinks. "You mean, the thing about vessels?"

"Yes," She says. "You were right on that principle. The power of the Lord is the ultimate power holding the universe together. It is not possible to be confined within one body, one entity, for eternity. Nothing is equipped for that. So, God—or, more accurately, the powers of the universe that God is comprised of—needs to be maintained within temporary vessels in order to keep the universe intact. These vessels give up their bodies and minds to be consumed by God's being. It is the ultimate calling, the ultimate sacrifice."

"What are you saying?" Dean asks, while Sam's head reels from the information he's just been given. "That God's not real?"

"Oh no," She replies. "He is. Just…His ability to exist in a tangible, corporeal form is compromised based solely on who He is. It is impossible to direct that essence into a self. Therefore, a self must be provided in order to act as a container. The person inside remains, but is absorbed into the larger entity of God. So, it is less of a possession, and more of a…symbiosis, of a sorts."

"Holy shit," Dean breathes, and Sam completely agrees.

She grins at them. "Quite," She says, her gaze instantly going back to Sam. "So, as you can imagine, a single being cannot take on that essence forever. Thus, the cycle. Our job, once it seems like the current vessel—for want of a better term—is looking like they will unravel, like they are unable to handle the power that is coursing through them constantly, is to find a new one. To start the cycle of divine containers over again. Generally, the leader of Heaven is informed that this process exists, so they may convene with God as needed. In this case: the angel Naomi. She is aware of this process, as of recent times."

Sam nods slowly. "So He's reached the end of his cycle?" He asks, gesturing towards God…no. Towards Chuck. "And now, you're looking for somebody else?"

"Hmm," She says, and _No, oh no, oh no no no_, Sam can put a word to the expression she has on her face now, (_adulation_) and no. There's no way. There's no _way_. "Well, I think we've found them."

And she's still looking at Sam, and the other two are looking at Sam, and now everybody's looking at Sam and he just…He can't. He can't. "That makes no sense."

"It's not out of nowhere," She tells him, and she's going to bring it up, he doesn't want her to bring it up, he can't have it be spoken into existence. "There's an extremely thorough vetting process, you know. We've been putting you through the ringer for, oh, years now to check."

"The ringer?" Dean asks, sharp, while Sam tries to pull his thoughts into any kind of semblance at all. "What are you talking about? What is this?"

"Well," She says, and Sam wants to sink through the non-existent floor, doesn't want Dean to know what it is that they're suggesting. "We have what can be defined, I suppose, as a new and exciting job offer for your brother. Well, it's more like a call to save the very fabric of the universe as we know it, but you know. Details."

"Wait," Dean says, and now he's looking at Sam too, looking in a way that he hasn't ever since he ejected Gadreel six years ago. Like he's something…other. Not human. "Hold on a second. Are you saying that _Sam _is your pick for Heaven's Next Top Deity?"

Clotho is the one to respond this time. "He is our next choice as the vessel for the Lord's power," She says, not pulling back the blow in the least. "And he has been for a long time now. There were no claims to his body previously, and his inherent psychic abilities allow him to hold onto divine ability with more relative ease. We just had to make sure he was adequately prepared for the task at hand, and we have concluded that he is, indeed."

"I thought he was Lucifer's vessel," And that's Adam, and also one hell of a time to remember that particular detail. "That means he's already been claimed, right?"

Clotho shifts her gaze to Adam. "I'm afraid that honor goes to you, actually," She tells him. "How do you think you were able to hold out in Hell so long, why its denizens did not touch you? They sensed that you have an inherent connection there, and that you were intended for it. You are unique in this sense."

Sam usually revels whenever he's right. He can't really bring himself to be happy about it this time.

"So…it was _you_?" Dean asks, focusing on completely the wrong thing if you ask Sam about it at all. "When you say 'tested', you guys deliberately put us through all the _crap_ we've been through, all because you were doing your little fucked up reality show? So we were _your _entertainment, not his?"

Dean gestures towards Chuck, who is still silent, as of now. The quiet is making Sam nervous, although it probably is because his power means nothing in here.

"Not entertainment!" Atropos interrupts. "We were testing Sam, and you, by proxy I suppose, for the good of all of creation. For example, your trials were, well, _actual_ trials, not a game. But not for the reason you think. I mean, come on. They were a test by _God_. We were really worried it was going to be too on the nose, but none of you thought about it for very long."

_Maybe I should speak now _Sam thinks wildly. _Maybe I can make this not be a thing that's happening right now_.

"I don't believe you," He says, hoping the words in his head are the same words that are coming out of his mouth. He's not quite with it enough to be completely sure. "I think whatever it is you're doing here is some sort of trick or hoax to try to win us over. I'm not going to be falling for it."

Atropos makes to respond, but Chuck doesn't let her.

"Exactly right," He says, and since when did having God agree with him make him feel like he'd done something wrong? His life is really all kinds of fucked up. "You are lying in the hopes that you will be able to unseat me. It's not going to happen. My power is my own, and it will not being shared with anybody else."

"You've known about this from the very beginning, Yeshua," Lachesis says, and Sam just about has a heart attack.

"_Yeshua_?" He repeats, shocked. "Are you telling me that this is…?"

"Oh, yup." She says. "Where do you think the story comes from? With the whole _Is Jesus the son of God or is he actually God_ thing? Turns out, both are right, kind of. He's just holding God temporarily for a while, you know. He was the new guy to keep the cycle going."

"But…_Chuck_," Sam says, and Atropos chuckles.

"Yeah, well, Chuck never really existed, I suppose," She says. "He was a composite of God within Yeshua's body. That persona really started to deteriorate with the vessel's deterioration though. That's partly when we knew that it was around time to change it all up. He only lasted a couple thousand years, though: it really wasn't that long at all. The vessels are getting less and less durable with time."

"You are _wrong_," And Chuck is back, and he's all spitting rage and divine fury at the women in front of him. "You are doing this because you think it affords you power, because you have no other purpose in this universe. Who are you to say the divine word is incorrect, or it is falling apart? You do not have the access to the secrets of the universe that I do. You are envious, and you are trying to control me. You cannot control me."

"Oh dear," Clothos says, injecting some levity into her voice for the first time in their conversation. "We have warned you again and again over the years, and you are proving us right yet again. We have very little power, as you have made clear to us. However, our most important job is to make sure that divine power and the Lord may reside in peace and stability. Even though we do not wield the power you do, we have a responsibility to make sure it can be wielded by somebody who is worthy. You are no longer worthy, Yeshua. You knew of this eventuality when you took on the divinity."

Chuck shakes his head. His desperation is now starting to show, and it is extremely disquieting to see. "I was aware that when I would become weaker, I would be able to pass my power on," He says. "And I am mostly unchanged. You are overstepping your bounds, and I will not allow this to happen."

Lachesis interjects here quietly. "This has been planned for a while now," She responds. "And you are well aware that this is _not _what the deal was. In fact, had all your faculties been working, you would have been aware of what we were planning."

Atropos laughs. Her clear amusement seems to enrage Chuck even more. "I kind of can't believe you didn't figure it out, being a writer and all. I mean, look at his _name_," And here she points at Sam again, and everyone's attention gets shifted back to him, _no no no no no no _"That's, like, character basics doesn't get more obvious than that, really."

Samuel. _Name of God_.

"Rowena," He breathes, struck by a sudden realization. She had told them to call the fates for this very reason, she must have figured it out. "She knew."

"Well, she'd guessed," Atropos replies "She had a great intuition, that one. Truly one of the great witches of all time, she had a real knack for natural laws and such. And, you can get her on her way, if you accept this offer. I'm sure she would really appreciate that."

Sam frowns. "She's not dead?"

"Not quite. She's hovering between life and death at the moment, because this one," She points to Yeshua, who grimaces in response. "Is somewhat of a sadist. They all get there, unfortunately, given enough time. But you can let her pass on peacefully, if you take over, you know. You could even bring her back, although I suspect that would make Death pretty upset."

"It would," Jack chimes in. "She doesn't like it when people do that. You'd be getting off on the wrong foot for sure."

"We're wasting time," And Clotho steps in now, light tone now completely gone. "Sam, it's time for you to make a decision. Will you give your consent to be the host for the power of the divine?"

It's an easy answer. He doesn't even have to think about it. "I decline," Sam says. "I don't want this."

Of course, it's not going to be that easy. "Aren't you a man of faith? Isn't that important to you? I know that he," And Clotho points casually at Chuck again, like he doesn't matter, like he never really did. "Let you down in a big way. He took away a significant part of you in taking away your faith. We can give it back to you, and you can make up for his mistakes. You can return faith back to the individuals of this universe."

Sam shakes his head. This…this is not what he wanted. This is never what he wanted. "Sure. But all of this, it doesn't restore the faith I originally had. It would just mean that I would have to become the good that I was hoping would exist. And, to be honest, I don't think that would work out too well. Historically, it hasn't."

"Here's something that would sweeten the deal for you, perhaps," She says. "You will need agents you can trust, out there in the field. And since you retain elements of yourself before you fuse with the divine, the people you trust now can be the people you trust later on."

Sam laughs without humor. "Look, I don't know what you're going for here, but I highly doubt you'll be able to convince me with whatever you're—"

"Let me finish," Clotho says, then continues like he never said anything at all. "For example, your brother was quite well-suited to purgatory. Perhaps he would have a role in running it, making sure that the monsters within were under control. We do not need another infestation of Leviathans unto the world, as I am sure you are intimately familiar with. Castiel, well, cannot be removed from here, but he is among the scant few that have been awakened in the Empty and was able to reason with it in order to be released. He is clearly a special being, and I believe the Empty may be convinced to send him back and forth as an intermediary."

For once, the attention shifts off of him and onto Dean instead. His eyes are wide and his mouth is open. Sam expects him to say something, anything, like _fuck that _or _I hated Purgatory and everything it represented _or _if you think that's a deal that'll get us to agree to anything, you're crazy _but he doesn't. Dean just…stands there, listening. It's unlike him, and it makes Sam break out in goosebumps.

Clotho turns her attention to Jack, and Sam is not happy with that, not at all. "Furthermore, Jack here may be quite useful in the running of Heaven from here on out. His ability to create angels, as well as his special status as Nephilim, may solve many of the difficulties that the angels currently find themselves in. We ourselves have been in contact with Naomi regarding this situation, as she is currently in charge of Heaven and needs to be appraised, and we believe she would certainly appreciate the help. As for Adam, well," And she looks at him askance, as if he was something dirty, tainted. "We all know where he should be, don't we? Hell is in need of dedicated leadership regardless, and a sympathetic ear would surely be beneficial to you going forward."

"I don't want this," Jack whispers, just loud enough for Sam to hear it. "I don't want to rule anything. I just want to be me."

And, shit. How can Sam do anything else after that? Even if he was tempted (and he's _not_. He isn't. He isn't), then that would definitely have talked him out of it completely. "Thank you for the offer," He says, careful now. Maybe she'll take his refusal if he lets her down easy. "But I don't think that I'll take it. Power like that in any hands is a recipe for disaster, and I don't want to be involved in anything like that again. I just want to be done with all of this, if I'm going to be honest with you. You still need my consent for this, and I'm not going to give it."

"Oh, Sam," Atropos says, voice filled with an empty sort of sympathy. She's not sorry about this, not in the least. "Haven't you realized this by now? That all of this isn't an option, isn't a choice? Wasn't all this to show you that you never get to say no?"

There's a ringing in his ears. And there, standing in the nothingness of the void, he considers it. Because that argument actually makes sense. Why else would all this crap would have happened to him? What if the point of all the _shit_ he's been dumped into is that he can make up for it later? All that powerlessness, the lack of ability to keep his own body to himself, as a way to prepare him to be able to take back control? And that's what this is, really. Taking back control. In a really big fucking way.

His silence seems to have revived Dean from whatever stupor he had fallen into. " That's _bullshit_." Dean snaps "What happened to Sam, to all of us, wasn't meant to teach us anything. It was just shit you shovelled onto us, not some sort of destiny we were meant to have. Who are you to decide what destiny means, anyway? We've foiled destiny again and again. Why does this have to be more meaningful than anything else? Why should we let you win this time?"

To Sam's surprise, Atropos laughs. It's tinkling and kind of pleasant. "Destiny is more of a, well, PR term, if you will," She chortles. "It really gives the general idea that we know what we're doing. Works wonders! We've learned over the years that if you cover something up in the veneer of destiny, people usually act on it. So, no. I'm not asking this of you for the sake of destiny. I'm asking this of you because it's the right thing to do. And we've learned, from watching you your whole life, that this is one thing you cannot turn down. So, Sam. Do the right thing, Accept this offer."

So, they're not going to let this go. That much is clear. They've stuck him and his family in the Empty, where God Himself has no power, and are going to hammer at him again and again until he accepts. The song remains the _fucking _same, he's going to go through this rigmarole with no end until he breaks, like always. This is exactly what he's been trying to escape and he can't, he fucking can't. He can't do this again, not anymore.

"Go to _hell_," Sam hears, and there's Dean, like always. "You think you can threaten him? That you can threaten _us_? We've tangoed with the best, and, ladies, you are definitely not that. You think you can do better than hundreds of years that Satan poured into the Cage? You're not going to win, so you better take us back and do another season of Survivor with whatever poor bastard you end up choosing to do this. Just know, this ain't happening."

And as much as he normally shies away from his brother speaking for him (he's a grown-ass man, Dean, _God_) Sam grasps at the words like they're his ticket out of hell. Because, well, Dean's right, isn't he? In building him up to do what they want, the Fates probably created the only people who could resist them for any length of time. Sam's said he was done, and he is. He is. He's going to do everything he can not to chain himself to any more divine beings, to go through possession again. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

He squeezes his eyes close, tries to reach for that feeling that tickles the back of his head, just out of reach, just there—

He's interrupted by a cackle. "Are you trying to Jedi-mind-trick us all away?" Atropos says, smiling, showing teeth. "That's not going to work, buddy. If we're protected by divine power here, what makes you think you can do anything? Plus, we've pretty much hamstringed your abilities, over the years. Too risky, you know. We only gave you access to let you escape from the graveyard. Sorry, Sam, you won't be able to access your powers until you take the deal. So?"

_Shit. _He has nothing left. The whole fucking cycle can just—

_Oh.._

Of course. If this works…it might solve everything. But it's a risk. A really, really big one.

So, he's going to take it. They've won on big risks before, and it might be their only chance to get out of this intact. Hopefully, Dean plays along, or it'll all be for nothing.

Sam's eyes tick over them, his family: Adam, stressed but composed, Jack, determined and terrified, Cas, probably out here in the nothingness somewhere, and Dean, angry and confident and sure in the knowledge that he'll get them out of this, again.

Sam takes a second to hope, and then nods. "I'm going to do it."

**Next time**: We're in the endgame, now.


	11. Joy

**Note**: Happy Supernatural day! I wanted this done before the final episode aired tomorrow. I hope you enjoy the conclusion!

Chapter 11: Joy

Dean's world falls apart, right before his eyes. Again.

He's going to have to watch his brother be tempted by the forces of Heaven and Hell _again_, watch him fall under the spell of that power _again_, and _Jesus Christ _(who, apparently, is right in front of them) hasn't he learned from the first time. How many times have they gone over this? How many times is Sam going to make this mistake? Dean is angry, is scared, but mostly, he's disappointed.

And then…

And then Sam looks at him. And winks.

Dean is transported suddenly ten years back, looking at Sam right before he pretends saying yes to Michael's possession. He knows how it felt being on the other side of it, now. His fear and anger drain out, leaving behind tension, anticipation, and irritation at his brother for leaving him high and dry like this. But, Sam has a plan, and Dean's going to trust in him.

Dean nods slightly. _Holy shit, my brother's gonna be God_, He thinks, fearfully (hysterically). _This is going to be hell on my self-esteem._

"No!" He hears a snarl, and sees Chuck leaping at Sam. "You do not deserve this power! This was not supposed to happen! You are not worthy of wielding this power!"

Sam looks startled, but before he can make a move, Chuck is hurled to the ground by an unseen, unknown force. He struggles, but is unable to escape, is unable to even stand up. Dean stares at the man who was previously known as God, who no longer even has the power to move his body. This part, Dean can admit, is pretty sweet. He's liking this moment a lot.

"I know you," Chuck continues, even though his voice is now muffled from being pressed into the ground. If there's even a ground here, because, you know. The Empty. "I know you better than anyone, better than yourself. You are not selfish enough to take this deal. You will not allow the fate of the universe to rest in hands that you know are not worthy."

Dean sees a wince flash across Sam's face. It's gone before he recognizes it for what it is. "Maybe so," Sam says, slowly, methodically. "But it's the only choice I've got. This is the only way that both we and the world survive. And honestly, that's all I care about right now."

"No!" Jack yells, returning to the conversation forcefully. "You don't have to do this, Sam. We can fight! Don't give up now at the very end! We still have work to do."

Dean shifts toward Jack, subtle, while Sam turns his gaze towards him. "I do, Jack," He says. "I have to."

"Wait—" Jack says, but Dean grabs his elbow, stopping him mid-sentence. He raises his eyebrows, trying to make it as obvious as possible.

"It's Sam's decision," He says, wagging his eyebrows, trying to contrast his expressions with his words as much as possible. "And we have to respect it. This is the only way that everybody wins."

Jack looks puzzled more than anything. Dean prays he doesn't question his weird behaviour, that he doesn't call him out on his attempts to obfuscate. It doesn't seem to be working, because Jack's jaw works, his posture stiffens, and his mouth opens again…

"He's right," Adam has reawakened, and it looks like he's caught on that Sam's decision is not quite what it seems. Maybe his social senses haven't been completely obliterated by his eternity in Hell. "He has to do this. I want this to be over. I can't stay here anymore, I just want to be done with this."

_Winchester genes always come through_, Dean thinks, giving Adam a grateful nod. Jack, trusting Adam at his word, stops attempting to object and shuts his mouth with an audible click. He still looks confused, a little lost, but it seems he's decided to trust in Sam, too.

_You better have a plan, dude._ Dean shakes his head, almost awed by the trust they've all decided to place on his brother, the consequences of which could be a disaster. _I hope you know what you're doing_.

All three fates—silent up until this point, watching the conversation—have turned their piercing gazes on Sam, as one. "Are you ready for this?" Clothos asks him.

"Yes," Sam whispers. Dean hates that word now, hates that they never get to give consent in a way that actually matters. "I accept."

The Fates nod and then converge on Sam. Chuck is forced back to his feet by some invisible force, dragged over to the small group. Atropos places one hand on Sam's forehead, the other on Chuck's and begins to chant.

"No!" Chuck shouts, struggling. Sam just closes his eyes. "Stop! You can't—"

He never finishes his sentence due to his completely disappearing without warning. Dean has a feeling it's done, it's permanent. His stomach crawls at the sudden nature of it.

Sam screams, and his eyes snap open, and Dean can see—_something_—reflected in there, something that was every color at once, galaxies and universes spiralling within and it's too much, it's too much…

After what feels like forever, the screaming stops. Sam shakes his head once, then again, like he's trying to fix something rattling around inside his head. "_Oh_," He says, and his voice echoes, and that's not Sam. That's not Sam. "This is…_oh_."

"Merging with the weight of the universe might take some getting used to," Atropos comments, glib, excited. "Take your time. Take it in."

Sam shakes his head again. Dean is getting light-headed, vision going hazy at the corners (fear?). "Sam!" He snaps. "You better do whatever plan you were cooking up in there, or I swear I'm gonna…"

Luckily, as Dean doesn't actually have anything ready to threaten his brother with, Sam looks towards him. "Dean?" He asks, a strange note in his voice.

"Yeah, dude," He replies, side-eyeing the Fates. They don't look concerned in the least. "You still in there?"

"I think so," Sam says, and that strange echo is back in his voice. "I…I don't think…it's a lot. It's a _lot_."

"I bet," Dean says, trying to smile, failing miserably. "But you got this, right? One more time, and then we're done?"

Sam fixes an intense gaze on him. "Yeah," He responds, voice growing stronger, more confident. "Yes. Once more." He takes a deep breath. "Okay."

"Okay," Dean echoes, trying to project support. _Come on, dude. Come on_.

"I love you guys," Sam says, sudden, unexpected, before turning to the Fates. "You're done."

In the space of a blink, the darkness of the Empty vanishes, and all Dean can see is brightness, growing in intensity, more and more and more and _this is it, he's gonna burn, he's gonna die (again), he's gonna_…

And then he's not.

* * *

They're back in the Bunker. It's just as they left it: messy from Jack and Adam's return, full of books, the summoning materials for the Fates still out and prominently on display. The same group is standing there: Sam, Dean, Jack, Adam, confused, discombobulated. Only, Cas is here too, now, looking just as confused as the rest of the assembled group.

"_Cas_!" Jack ignores their predicament, breaks the silence, and runs to their just-returned friend. He throws his arms around him, making Cas stagger back a couple steps. "You're back! You're here! How did you escape?"

"I didn't," Cas says, locking his gaze onto the three brothers in front of him. "I'm pretty sure I have one of you to thank for this, actually. The Empty showed me everything as it was happening, but nothing explained this. What happened?"

That question snaps them out of their stupor. Dean runs up to the table and begins to clear away the summoning materials, but Sam steps forward and takes his wrist. "Stop. You don't have to do that."

"I'm not taking any chances," Dean snaps back, yanking his wrist from Sam's grip. "We can't let them get here again. We need to make sure that—"

"They won't," Sam says, calm. "It's done. That won't work anymore."

Dean's sardonic response is cut out before it even emerges. Cas, who has been frowning and staring off into the distance, seems to come to a realization. "Angel radio. It's silent. I can't hear anyone."

"What did you do, Sam? What did you do?" Dean throws the items back down on the table, incensed. "What the fuck is this? Are you even still you?"

"I got rid of it," Sam says, side-stepping the other question. "All of it. The supernatural, my powers, the concept of God…all of it. It's gone. I used whatever the hell they gave me to make it all not exist. Forever, if I did it right. I'm not really sure, to tell you the truth."

"_What?_" Dean looks at him, disbelieving. "What do you mean, _you got rid of it_? _What_?"

"Yeah, I…" Sam blinks at him, strange confidence leeching out of him slowly. "I used…divine power, I guess? To remove everything supernatural from the universe. Including God's powers. The cycle's finished with now. The universe is safe."

"What about Heaven?" Cas rounds on him, eyes shining, emotionally bare. "Is it still there?"

"I…I'm not sure. I think it's gone, but I don't know for sure," Sam says, trying to get back his calm, failing visibly. "The only way we can find out is when we die, I think. It'll be a permanent thing now. We're done. We're done with all of it."

"That is not possible," Cas says, shaking his head. "You cannot simply eliminate—"

"Come on, Cas," Sam interrupts, feeling exhausted. "At this point, impossible doesn't exist. If you saw what happened, then you know what happened to me, and you know that the usual boundaries didn't exist anymore."

Cas stares at him, desperation in his eyes. "Even so, the structures that created the universe cannot just…vanish. The world would not still be standing if that was the case."

Sam turns to Jack in response. "Try to use your powers," He says. "And you'll see what I mean."

Jack frowns, but closes his eyes and scrunches them tightly. Several seconds pass in tense silence, and Jack reopens his eyes. "It didn't work," He says, confused, a little lost. "I—nothing's there. It doesn't exist."

"Yeah," Sam says, smiling tremulously. "Well, there you are. It's all gone. We're free now." He gestures around, wanting something to do with his hands. "Everything in here is pretty much useless now, huh?"

"But," Dean's at a loss. He looks like he's never felt like this before. "That's all I know to do. That's all _we _know to do. How are we supposed to keep going? What the fuck can we do next?"

Sam shakes his head, huffing out a breath. "I don't know. This is…this is new for me, too. The only thing to do, I guess, is to start over. Do whatever we wanna do. We have no more responsibilities to hold us back."

"How could you do that?" Cas says, and he looks…broken. "You've _destroyed _so many people. Every system in place that allows us to control our futures. I cannot fathom why you would do that."

"Nobody's dead!" Sam insists instantly. "I…I think I was able to turn everyone human. Like you. Like Jack. The rest of the angels, and…demons, I guess, are all human now. Everyone's on the same page. At least, that's what should have happened. You being here I think might be proof that it worked. As for…the other thing," He lets out a sigh here, resigned. "It's been proven by now, I think, that we will inevitably screw things up if we have control over ourselves. I don't want what happened to us to happen to anyone else. So. We gotta submit to the tender mercies of the universe, I guess."

Dean shakes his head. "Who the fuck talks like that?" He mutters, probably not really knowing how to react to all this. "'Tender mercies of the universe'. What the hell, man."

Cas responds by sinking down into a chair, covering his face with his hands. He's silent.

"What happened to all the dead people?" Jack says, shoving the silence away. "Are they gone? Since Heaven isn't…you know…"

Sam thinks of his mom. He thinks of Jack's mom. "I don't know," He says, almost at a whisper. "That's one of the things we don't have control over anymore, I guess. But I'm sure that whatever death means now, there's no suffering. Like, for example, I think I was able to let Rowena pass on. So maybe Billie was right the whole time? I don't know. The whole _fate _thing is still kind of murky. And, like, I was supposed to have access to all the information in the universe and I'm still not sure if it exists or not. So. That kinda freaks me out if I'm being honest with you."

Jack doesn't look like he understands, really, but he nods anyway. Sam appreciates the effort.

He knows he has to ask, though. "Are you guys…you know. Okay with not being given all the powers of the universe? I know I kind of made the decision for you guys there."

Dean snorts, shaky. "You know we are," He says. "I think we're all in agreement here that continuing whatever was going on there, and getting us involved, would have been the wrong move. We don't belong in anything like that."

"I don't think I belong anywhere, now," Adam interjects, dead-voiced, dead-eyed. "I belonged there. How will I survive?"

"You don't belong there," Dean begins hotly, but Sam just looks at Adam. All they can do is try to get him reacclimated, and Sam hopes that he eventually finds himself over here again. "Just stick with us. Winchesters shouldn't live apart, anyway."

Sam smiles tremulously. Maybe that will finally be true now.

There's a subtle sound to the right, and Cas lifts his head out of his hands. "We should all stay together," He says, quiet, almost imperceptible. "That's the only way we can get through this."

Sam had thought he wouldn't have to feel guilty anymore. He should have known it was too good to be true. "I will say," He says, trying to inject some levity into the situation. "It's nice to have confirmation that I'm never getting my powers back again. They could be useful sometimes but it'll sure be nice to be normal for a change."

"I agree," Jack says, and a large smile splits his face. It's sudden and takes the whole room by surprise. "Normal sounds awesome. Think I can go to college or something? I can't wait! Thank you, Sam."

Sam inclines his head in Jack's direction. _He's a good kid_. "Thank you for saying that."

"It's too quiet," Dean says, in a tone that counteracts the small smile on his own face. "No monsters, no ghosts, no nothing. Why is it so quiet? Shit, we'll have to call Jody. She's gonna flip. Claire's gonna be furious."

"Probably," Sam says, surrendering to a smile of his own. "She might have to go back to school."

"And we'll have to find jobs," Cas says, still solemn but thoughtful now. "I have Gas-N-Sip experience, we can start from there and work our way up."

Sam blinks. Well, shit. They _are_ gonna have to do that, won't they? "Think Stanford has a spot open?" He jokes weakly, not fully convinced that it's even a joke.

"Why not?" Dean says, and it looks like he's finally coming around to the idea, committing to it with the zeal that he has for everything. "Not like we have anything holding us back now. You're gonna have to get one hell of a recommendation letter though."

Sam laughs. It's full-bellied, surprised, and a little wistful. "Do I have to?"

"Dude, you don't have to do anything. You were _God_," Dean says, laughing in response, looking out into the depths of the Bunker like it holds the future that is possible for them, now. "That's gonna look amazing on your application."

END

**Note**: I hope you guys found this ending satisfying! I know it's a little open-ended, but I'm happy with the idea that they can do whatever they want now, and that they finally have freedom and peace if they want it. Much thanks to everyone who read this, and a special thank you to people who engaged and reviewed the work. You guys are amazing. Here's hoping for a wonderful final season!


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